


my youth, our youth

by fishydwarrows



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Anxiety, Betaed, Blood and Injury, Brakebills (The Magicians), Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Childhood Friends, Depression, Domestic Violence, Endgame Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, Gender Dysphoria, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Alice Quinn/Margo Hanson, Minor William "Penny" Adiyodi/Kady Orloff-Diaz/Julia Wicker, Misgendering, Multi, Murder, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, POV Eliot Waugh, POV Quentin Coldwater, Quentin Coldwater Lives, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Slow Burn, Slurs, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, That's right babey, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, they are transssssss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25076431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishydwarrows/pseuds/fishydwarrows
Summary: Eliot Waugh was not always the spectacular second year student Quentin had the good fortune to meet on his first day at Brakebills. “Self-made” for better or worse, fits Eliot to the T, and the beginning of everything he was and became, started in Indiana.It started with the new girl.
Relationships: Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater & Alice Quinn, Quentin Coldwater & Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater & Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater & Margo Hanson, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, Taylor & Eliot Waugh
Comments: 214
Kudos: 132





	1. Youth

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! this fic has been stewing in my brain for a long time- I basically just have a lot of headcanons about trans eliot and quentin and what their different journeys would be like. Please be aware there will be a lot of triggers throughout this fic- i promise there's a happy ending but both of them do go through a lot to get there. I, myself, am trans and I'm using it to inform both Eliot and Quentin's relationship to their gender presentation and how they go about transitioning. I just think we need more trans queliot in general and if the content doesn't exist i'll damn well do it myself!
> 
> Idk how frequently I'll be updating but i do have a complete outline!
> 
> Thank you to Torie who betaed this along with Caleb, Quill, and Lou who listened to my initial very long trans queliot ramblings. Also for Leo, my best friend.
> 
> TW for this chapter include misgendering, homophobia/homophobic slurs, dysphoria, and references to child abuse
> 
> Very excited to get this going!!! yeehaw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot meets the new girl.

_**Whiteland, Indiana,** _

_**2006** _

* * *

i.

“So,” Taylor said, reaching over his desk, sneakers squeaking on the worn linoleum, to poke Eliot in the back, “What do you think of the new girl?” He leaned back in his plastic chair, a conspiratorial look alighting his eyes. Eliot tapped his fingers against the aging wood of his desk and frowned. 

The new girl– she’d been introduced at the beginning of class, Ms. Péwe had said something about her moving from New Jersey – gross – and the girl had dragged her feet to an open seat in the back of the class, pulled out some book and not said a word. Eliot looked over his shoulder at her. 

“What is there to think?” Sure, it was rare for someone to transfer in halfway through the year and it would definitely be the most interesting thing to happen in eighth grade aside from like promotion, but what was there to say? Oh, Quincy whatever her last name was- she has short hair and dresses like she’s hunkering down for the winter? That was boring. And Eliot wasn’t boring, nor was he interested in boring, and he certainly wasn’t interested in some nerd girl from Jersey. 

“I don’t know, El, she’s probably lonely right?” 

“Probably.” 

“And she probably needs someone to show her around campus- someone to steer her away from the seniors and stuff.” 

“Again, probably.” 

Taylor sighed. His sneakers squeaked. 

Eliot rolled his eyes. 

“I’m just sayin’ I would feel bad if I was all alone and didn’t know anybody on my first day of class.” 

“Yes, but-“Eliot began and quickly stopped himself. Ms. Péwe was staring at him. He turned back to his desk and swallowed. Eliot didn’t want to be noticed, didn’t need to be noticed. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, pulled the pencil from behind his ear and worked on his Algebra for several minutes. Then he turned, slightly, slightly, back towards Taylor. 

“Yes, but why are we the ones?” 

“Because no one else is gonna.” Eliot chanced a glance at the new girl. Her short dark hair fell in front of her face, her nose resolutely buried in an obviously overread copy of something called _The World in the Walls._ She was just a nerd. And Eliot- Eliot could like nerds…or at least tolerate them for a single day. He turned to Taylor and sighed. 

“Fine. Talk with her at lunch?” 

“Yes! At lunch.” Taylor whispered, pumping his fist. 

“Thanks Ellie.” He grinned, “I know you girls will get along.” Eliot grimaced and turned back to his work. 

“No problem.”

ii.

Eliot always considered the cafeteria an unfortunate place to be, not that it was disgusting, it just always made you feel a certain way, like eating there was the last resort in a long list of bad options. No one who had friends ate in the cafeteria. 

So, of course, the new girl was there. 

Eliot ducked his head under the door – he was tall for a- well. He watched as Taylor walked confidently past him towards whatever-her-name-was. Why Taylor was so interested in her, Eliot didn’t know. Jersey wasn’t even that interesting, it’s not like there were lots of famous people there. He leaned against the wall. Did Taylor have some kind of insta-crush on her? But no, no, Eliot knew that was, ha, stupid to even consider. Taylor caught his eye and motioned him over. 

Eliot hesitated, gripping the straps of his backpack he felt the undeniable urge to turn away, fuck whatever noble thing Taylor was trying to rope him into. That new girl would be fine. He was jostled as someone pushed past. Eliot set his jaw and breathed loudly through his nose. It wasn’t that Eliot was like, anti-feminist, girl-power or whatever, it was just- well. The new girl looked… Eliot didn’t want to think about it. 

He tucked his curly hair behind his ear and strode forward, his skirt swishing around his ankles. He dropped his backpack with a thud! The new girl jumped and looked up, up, at Eliot. 

“Ellie!” Taylor strained a smile, “We were just talking about _Doctor Who,_ remember it came out last year?” 

Oh god, nerd shit. Sadly, Eliot knew what they were talking about. 

“Oh yeah,” Eliot said, “With Christopher Eccleston? That guy’s ears are huge. Love the leather jacket though. He’s still it right?” 

“Oh, uh, he’s not the Doctor anymore. It’s David Tennant now. He regenerated in the Christmas special, it was like last month and honestly, I don’t know if this Tennant dude will ever replace Eccleston because he was like, so good at being the Doctor, you know? And how can you even match that energy? And his chemistry with Rose? Where’s that gonna go, you know, I mean, he’ll probably be good though. I hope so…” The new girl looked off, face burning. 

Oh god, a nerd. 

Shit. 

Eliot looked her up and down. Plaid and a t-shirt, short hair, and jeans and- Jesus Christ, she had really soft brown eyes. Eliot cleared his throat. 

“I’m El.” 

“Quincy.” 

“What kind of name is that?” 

Quincy caught his eye and then looked off again.

“My name?” 

“Well, it’s dumb.” 

“Ellie-“ Taylor said, looking pained. 

“I’m gonna call you Q- easier to remember.” 

Quincy- Q frowned. 

“Uh no? You’re a stranger? We literally just met.” Eliot shrugged and pulled out a chair, settling in. 

“Exactly, we’re not strangers anymore, hence, nickname, easier to remember.” Taylor shook his head. Eliot waited. Q seemed to think on it for a second before coming to a decision. 

“Fine, Q, whatever, it’s not like you’re calling me twinkle toes or anything.” 

“Though I would if you asked nicely.” Eliot smirked. “Oh-kay,” Taylor said, and he leaned forward on the table, “Quincy, you’re from New Jersey, right? Why’d ya move here?”

“Yeah, why bumfuck Indiana?” Taylor swatted him. 

“Uh,” Q said, her brows furrowing, she looked confused and a little nervous, “My dad got a new job and we had to move,” her expression darkened, it was clear she was thinking of something, “it happens…” Eliot raised an eyebrow, and Taylor met his eyes. They’d find out later. 

“So, Q,” Eliot flicked the new girl’s shoulder, “What was that book you were reading in class?” 

“I wasn’t-“ Q sputtered. 

“Q baby, you looked like you were about to fall into the book. At least, like you wanted to.” Eliot looked at her pointedly, “What’s it about, is it like Harry Potter or something? Because I haven’t read the Half-Blood or whatever the new one is.” Eliot thought for a moment. 

“Or seen any of the movies.” 

“I have!” Taylor said, “Can I see your _Fillory_ book? Just for a bit.”

Q squinted at him.

“Will you lend me your HP book?” Q said. 

“Uh, yeah. It’s not like I have anyone to read it with,” he looked at Eliot pointedly and leaned towards Q’s ear conspiratorially “I have a theory she just doesn’t read.” 

“Excuse you, I read,” Eliot said. “I just don’t read boring shit.” 

Q huffed. 

“ _Fillory_ isn’t boring.” 

Eliot cocked an eyebrow. 

“ _Fillory and Further_ is just- you know the _Narnia_ books, right? They’re by C.S. Lewis and they’re all about, ya know, going to a secret world, but it’s all like, sanitized? Because Lewis was like, some dude in the forties making shit up for his goddaughter, but! But, Christopher Plover, he wrote the series- the _Fillory_ series- his books are like, there’s something about them, something real? I read in a biography my friend Julia gave me that Plover actually lived in a house next to the Chatwins, like, they were real people! And it really influenced the way he wrote, so there’s more depth to their character. But like I was saying _Fillory_ is similar to _Narnia_ in that it’s portal fantasy, but the difference is where it really, really just, it’s amazing. Okay so the Chatwins go into Fillory and they have to go on quests and it’s just really cool and whimsical? There’s a bit with a mad magician who can only do like, game magic? And there’s talking bears and trees and stuff but like, there’s _nuance_ and not everyone is like, a friend. So you have the intrigue of this magical world _plus_ the real life stuff that the Chatwins were dealing with- that Plover included- which was like, world war two, and you have this whole overarching thing of what is a quest anyway? Why are they brought there and- oh man, there’s- Fillory was made by these two gods Ember and Umber and they-“ 

“Okay,” Eliot said. “I believe you.” 

Q’s face was flushed and she let out a harsh breath. Eliot patted her on the shoulder. He hadn’t realized someone could talk that much, jeez. But, it was somehow endearing coming from Q-the-new-girl. Lord knew if it was Taylor he’d have tuned it out, but Q? She made it sound interesting, exciting even. It probably wouldn’t hurt to hear more. 

“Taylor?” 

“Uh huh.” Taylor smiled and unzipped Q’s backpack, ignoring her squeak of protest. Making an “aha!” sound he retrieved her book. Taylor flipped to the first chapter and began reading aloud: “The Chatwin Twins and their older brother had been sent to the countryside. From a young age, Martin Chatwin had a gloomy nature- Ha! That’s you.” Q swatted at Taylor, who rocked back on his heels. 

Q sighed as Taylor continued with a heavily affected British accent: “And to combat his melancholy, he would lose himself in stories of wonder. So, he knew that he would have trouble convincing his brother and sister that this was no fantasy. Rupert, wounded in the war and the first Chatwin to put away childish things...” Taylor gestured grandly to himself, “And Jane, the family skeptic.” He bowed towards Eliot. 

“This was Fillory, a land of magic… and- yeah that’s enough of that.” Taylor closed the book with a slap! And graciously returned it to Q by first bopping her on the head and then attempting to balance it there. Q smiled shyly. 

“You know, uh, if you want to borrow it you can,” she said, looking at Eliot, her head slightly ducked, trying to keep the book from falling. 

“I don’t-“ Eliot began. Paused. Q blew her bangs out of the way but kept looking at him, brown eyes soft. 

“Yeah, okay, uh,” he said, brushing his long hair behind his ear. 

“I don’t wanna take it while you’re reading it though.” The book fell off of Q’s head and she caught it deftly. 

“That’s okay,” she said as she handed it to him, “I’ve got more copies at home.”

iii.

Q wasn’t in all of Eliot’s classes, but it didn’t really matter. Whiteland, in all it’s two story glory, wasn’t actually that big, so he saw her around the hall after lunch and later during fifth and sixth period. She was endearing, in kind of a lost-puppy slash Disney sidekick way. It was safe to admit that Eliot was just a little charmed whenever she saw him and smiled. 

Okay, so maybe the new girl wasn’t boring. But she was a nerd. 

Eliot slogged his way through his final two classes of the day and waited with dread for the bell. At its ring, he packed up his stuff, said goodbye to Taylor at his locker and shouldered his backpack, grimacing. He hated walking home. It was always either muddy or craggy and every time he stepped in a hole, he always managed to turn his ankle. It wasn’t just the walking he hated: it was the home part too. But, well. Eliot paused outside the school and dropped his backpack on the steps. Bending carefully, so as not to jostle his skirt, he fumbled around blindly until he found what he was looking for. _The World in the Walls_ was sturdy in his grip. Eliot flipped through the book, listening to the zip! of the pages. He held it out in front of him, studying it, since he hadn’t really paid attention to what it looked like earlier. 

The whole book was white with a black and white illustration of a clock with what looked like rams heads on the cover. Inside in the very top left corner were the initials Q. C. 

Suddenly, the book was gone from his hands. Eliot’s eye’s snapped up and he looked up into the face of Logan Kinnear. Eliot felt himself pale, his eyes darted to where the book had bounced down the stairs, luckily no one had stepped on it. 

“Looks like you dropped something, Mason,” said one of Logan’s lackeys. Eliot didn’t say anything, it was better to just be quiet and get through it. Logan looked at Q’s book, now at the bottom of the stairs. 

“ _Fillory_? What are you? fucking six?” He scoffed. His friends laughed. 

“Stupid bitch.” 

“Fucking dyke.” 

Logan spit on the ground next to Eliot and grabbed him by the hair. 

“You better high tail your queer ass to fairyland or next time…” 

Logan pulled his hair. 

Eliot understood. 

Logan threw him to the ground and Eliot just barely caught himself before hitting the stairs. The concrete skinned his knees and peeled away the skin on his palms. Eliot winced in pain and grit his teeth. Logan and his buddies sauntered away laughing. Eliot sat, palms down, and felt the throbbing of blood underneath his skin. Fucking Logan. Fucking fuck. He wanted to cry, which was stupid, and yet, the tears came anyway. He sniffed loudly and mentally admitted that if there was one good thing about his long hair, it was that it hid his face. His hair made him think of Q. Q, the new girl, who’s hair was short and looked soft and looked _boyish._ Eliot blinked and scrubbed at his eyes. 

“Fuck,” he said. The book. Q’s book. He winced and ran down the stairs to where it lay. Some pages were bent but luckily it wasn’t torn. Eliot let out a sigh of relief. At least one thing had come out unscathed.

“Hi, uh, El.” Came a voice from his right. Eliot turned around wide eyed, clutching the book to his chest. It was Q. 

“Did you-“ 

“Yeah.” Q kicked her foot. 

“Not all of it but- you know, enough. Who was that douchebag?” 

“Logan Kinnear.” Eliot spat. 

“Okay, um, good to know. Are you-“ Q stepped forward. She was shorter than Eliot. A lot of people were shorter than Eliot. But Eliot noticed. Maybe it was her brown eyes, or her sad looking eyebrows, it was like she understood something Eliot did not, there was so much warmth there. 

“Are you okay?” Q cupped Eliot’s cheek. He pushed the hand away, feeling…something. 

“I’m fine,” Eliot said. “Why do you care? You said earlier- we’re strangers.” 

Q frowned and fiddled her fingers. 

“I don’t know, I guess I bond fast? Or time is an illusion, ha.” She ducked her head. “Plus, um, you said we’re not strangers anymore and I’d like? A friend? If that’s what you were trying to be earlier? If not uh-“ 

Eliot shook his head rapidly. 

“No, I-“ he swallowed. “We can be friends.” 

Q smiled. 

“Sweet,” she rose on her tip toes and looked over Eliot’s shoulder. 

“Stay here I’ll get your backpack.” Eliot watched her as she went.

iv.

Home. Home was where the heart was. Or at least, home was where Eliot’s bed was and his collection of Celine Dion CDs. There was a short list of things Eliot enjoyed around home: the VCR and the family collection of Patrick Swayze’s filmography, the old sewing machine his grandma had given his mom two years ago, the button down he’d stolen from his dad’s dresser, the worn copies of A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Brideshead Revisited he kept under his bed, and the goats. Other than those things, Eliot hated being home. At least at school he was taller than his tormentors. 

Eliot closed the door carefully behind him. The Mason house was sprawling; old wallpaper, yellowing, adorned the walls. To the left, their small living room and fancy new TV his mom had gotten after saving all year, to the right, the steep stairs to the second floor, and further right, the kitchen, where there was movement. Eliot eyed the kitchen warily and adjusted his backpack. He headed for the stairs, only pausing to kick off his shoes by the door. First step. Second step. The old wood creaked as he tried to shift his weight. Eliot froze. More movement from the kitchen, and this time- a voice. Eliot held his breath. 

“Elinor?” His grip on the backpack tightened. 

“Hi, mom,” he said. 

“Before you do your homework can you check the coop? I would but I’m baking.” 

“Okay,” he said, and reluctantly turned back around. Beside the house was the barn where they kept heavy machinery, further down were the cows- stinked like shit over there- and closer to the house was the chicken coop. Eliot went there now, grumbling. But chickens were better than the clunking sounds of his father’s footsteps, better than the sting on his cheek when he accidentally spoke out of turn, better than being yelled at for hours, crowded against the wall with nowhere to go, chickens were better than a lot of things. So, he made sure everything was all together- foxes were a problem after all- and ran back inside, this time running up the steep stairs all the way to his room. He dropped his backpack and locked the door. 

Eliot’s room was eclectic. Here and there on the walls were Broadway posters he’d printed on printer paper from the local library: Into the Woods, Les Mis, Merrily We Roll Along, The Cradle Will Rock, etc. His bed was tucked into the corner, the large pink comforter and stuffed bear -named Bearance- rumpled and stuck half-falling to the floor. In the other corner of his room, tucked between his desk and the window, was his bookshelf. Eliot carefully retrieved Q’s book from his backpack and paused. Q, the new girl… She was… Eliot couldn’t place it. There was something. She was endearing, that was for sure. The way she carried herself, condensed and bent, like her layers weren’t enough to cover her body. Eliot wished he could get away with that. And her hair…It was so short, and it wasn’t like the pixie his Aunt Pam had, no Q’s hair was… Eliot tugged at his long curly hair. And the way Q had looked at him. Eliot put a hand to his cheek, where Q had cupped it. If he closed his eyes he could still feel her soft hand and the heat of her fingers. Eliot breathed out a sigh. He couldn’t- wouldn’t think about it. He frowned and set the book aside. 

He had homework to do.


	2. We're Going To Be Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot and Taylor argue over movies. Q trips. Eliot does some thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I feel positively flustered by all the support this fic has been given! and i'm excited to tell the whole story i've planned ahhhh special thanks to lydia who drew the kids!!!! ahhhhhh thank you again to torie my beta ily
> 
> also i did some art for this chapter lol 
> 
> TW for misgendering, injury, blood, bullying, implied child abuse/domestic abuse and gender-questioning i guess

i.

“So, Q.” 

“Ellie.” 

“Call me El.” 

“Sorry, yeah, I’m used to Taylor doin’ it.”

“Yeah, well, Taylor’s not here.” 

Q had now lived in Whiteland for almost two months. Today, Q and Eliot were left to themselves, waiting on the sidewalk for Q’s dad. Eliot was avoiding going home, he would probably regret it later, but Eliot liked hanging out with Q. He also liked copying her homework. He lived with the duality. 

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Q said. 

“Taylor got a job at the grocery store.” 

Q scooched next to him and planted her chin over his shoulder. Eliot tensed, feeling the warmth of her pressed against him. 

“You have to divide by 32 not 33- and aw, do you miss your boyfriend already, El?” Eliot scoffed and bounced his shoulder, gently knocking Q’s chin. 

“He’s not my boyfriend, asshole. He’s my friend _and_ Taylor shows me his test answers, unlike _some people_.” 

Q poked Eliot’s side. 

“Homework and tests are not the same thing, no matter how much you try to convince me.” 

“But-“ 

“Nope! You have to struggle all on your own.” 

Eliot sighed dramatically. “Oh the humanity! I simply ask for knowledge and I get rejected. You know, Q, restriction of information is a terrible crime, just think- what if Wikipedia went down tomorrow? How would you source all your shitty English papers?” 

“Hey-“ 

“Do you want to deny me my right to an education, Q? To my rights as a citizen of the U. S. of A?” 

Q giggled and pushed Eliot to the ground and rose to her feet to tower over her. 

“Freedom of information is super important, El, but, uh, yes, you have been…denied,” she said, a picture of mock seriousness. Unable to hold back her laughter, Q was rosy cheeked and grinning. Her short hair fell in front of her eyes and she blew it away with a happy huff. Eliot swallowed, watching her. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Goodbye words! Goodbye brain! Hello pretty girl. 

“Oh! Um, speaking of knowledge-“ Q squatted next to Eliot, looking at him, eyes shining, not noticing Eliot’s inner crisis. 

“How goes _The World in the Walls?_ ” 

Eliot sat up, emotions swirling. 

“I haven’t gotten very far…loathe as I am to admit it…” 

“Oh,” Q said. She fidgeted in place, not quite deciding where to put her hands. 

“Is it- Do you think it’s boring or-“ 

“No! No.” Eliot said, waving a hand. Q kept moving her hands. He sighed. “I just- I have trouble concentrating? Like, I _want_ to read it, but my brain won’t let me. Also-“ Eliot pulled his backpack over and reached inside. 

“Here,” he said, handing her a quarter. “For those fancy fingers of yours.” 

“Oh,” Q blushed, took the coin and began fiddling with it. “Thanks. You know… Ha, no it’s stupid.” Eliot leaned his head back, his long hair heavy in its braid. 

“It’s probably not.” 

“Probably.” 

“Yeah, so spill.” Eliot gave Q a sidelong look. Q made an aborted motion to tuck her hair behind her ear and then stopped, probably realizing that it was too short. Eliot tried to picture Q with long hair like his own. It would probably be some kind of bob, chin length. It would be cute. But the short hair suited her. 

“I could read to you?” She said, her voice high in its uncertainty. 

“Read to me?” Eliot said, sitting up completely. 

“Or- Or not,” she said, her face growing redder with flush. “I don’t- It’s a stupid idea.” Q looked away, rolling the quarter between her fingers furiously. 

“No-“ Eliot grabbed Q’s hand. “No, it’s not stupid. I’d love for you to read to me,” he said. Q’s hand was warm in his. 

They met eyes for a moment, neither letting go. Q smiled shyly. Brown really was such a soft color. Q’s hair was brown, her eyes were brown. Eliot felt a little lost in it. They were far closer than he had intended. Q squeezed his hand just a little. If he just leaned in then maybe…Then a car honked and Eliot remembered where he was. 

  
  
_[Eliot and Q by @hollysharks](https://twitter.com/hollysharks/status/1284680664281907203/photo/1)_

“Oh. That’s my dad.” Q said, sounding disappointed. 

Why would she be disappointed? 

Eliot pulled away quickly and began stuffing his homework into his backpack. 

“Obviously, you can’t read to me right now,” he laughed nervously, “But yeah, Q, I’d…” Eliot turned back and smiled at her, helplessly. 

“I’d like that.” Q’s answering smile was bright and wonderful and Eliot felt something, a feeling pool in his stomach.

ii.

“I still don’t see why we can’t go see _V for Vendetta_ like we planned.” Taylor groaned, grabbing his backpack from underneath his desk. 

“It’s got Natalie Portman in it! And Hugo Weaving…”

Eliot rolled his eyes. 

“Just because you think his voice is sexy-“ Taylor smacked him. 

“I just think _She’s the Man_ doesn’t look as good.” 

“What’s not good about it? It’s based off of Shakespeare; I like Shakespeare, you like Shakespeare, Q likes Shakespeare, we _all_ like Shakespeare,” Eliot gave Taylor a pointed look. 

“Plus,” he added, “Channing Tatum’s in it.” Taylor huffed. 

“Well, if that’s the case-“ He opened the classroom door and smiled, “why not.” Eliot stopped, shifting his backpack. 

“Well, come on, ladies first.” Taylor said, leaning against the door. Eliot frowned and walked into the hall. 

“So we’ll go see it when it comes out on Friday or- no, wait, I have work, uh, maybe Sunday?” Eliot let Taylor’s voice join with the background noise of the hallway. 

He scanned the walls, Q usually was at her locker by now. And there she was, in all her small, tomboyish glory, stacking an ungodly amount of books into her arms. She turned and they caught each other’s eyes. Q tried to wave, but all she managed was a little wrist wiggle due to all the books. She hip-checked her locker closed and made her way toward them, eyes sparkling. 

Suddenly, Q fell to the ground with a sickening smack. 

“Oops,” sneered Logan Kinnear. 

Eliot felt sick and tried to rush forward, only to have his wrist grabbed from behind. 

“Don’t,” Taylor hissed, “She’ll be fine.” 

Q didn’t look fine. 

She was holding her nose, her eyes squeezed shut. 

It looked like she was bleeding. 

“ _Ellie.”_ Taylor tightened his grip. Eliot watched as Logan Kinnear walked away, laughing. 

“He’s such a fucking asshole,” he said, voice trembling. 

“Yeah, well,” said Taylor, finally letting go of his wrist, “There’s only so much we can do.” 

“I hate it.” 

“Yeah, me too.”

Eliot looked around the hall- no teachers- the other students were giving Q a wide berth, she was trying to pick up her books with one hand still holding her nose; it wasn’t going well. Eliot rushed to Q’s side and began stacking her books. 

“Are you okay?” he said, quiet, not looking, watching the hall for Logan’s return. 

“I doanb thib it’s broken,” she said stuffily. “Hurds like a bitcb though.” 

Taylor squatted down next to her. 

“I’m gonna take you to the nurse, okay? Ellie, I know you can’t skip, give the books to me.” 

Taylor was right, Eliot couldn’t afford to skip. His dad would be really pissed, and Taylor knew- Taylor knew that Eliot couldn’t take the risk. Still, Eliot gripped Q’s books feeling upset. If Taylor hadn’t grabbed him, if he hadn’t been distracted by Q’s fucking sweet smile, maybe she wouldn’t be bleeding. It was obvious that Logan had noticed that Q was his friend. Eliot felt sick. This was all his fault. 

He numbly handed the books to Taylor and chanced a glance at Q. Q, who was looking at Eliot like _she_ was the concerned one. Like she wasn’t fucking bleeding at that very moment. She grabbed Eliot’s hand and squeezed once. 

“I’m fine, El, really.” 

Eliot laughed bitterly. 

“Seriously, I’m okay. So I’m bleeding, whatever. Go to class, I’ll be all good.” 

Eliot sniffed. Why the fuck did he feel like crying? 

“I’ll see you after school?” Q said, eyes uncertain, like Eliot was just gonna- what? Stop being friends with her? God. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” he said, “both of you.” Taylor nodded at Eliot and pushed Q’s giant stack of books under one arm, holding the other one out for her to grab. 

“See ya, Ellie.”

iii.

Waiting after school felt like Hell. Well, okay, Hell was all of Indiana and especially Whiteland, but at that very moment Hell was more like, a verb, than a noun. Something Eliot was currently experiencing and would continue to experience until he saw Q come out of the main building. And Taylor too, he supposed. 

(But Taylor hadn’t been furiously bleeding from the nose so-) 

After waiting a half hour Taylor and Q finally emerged. Q looked…she looked fine. 

Her eyes weren’t black- the telltale sign of a broken nose- but her nose was a little red. She looked fine. 

She was fine. 

It was fine. 

Taylor jogged up to Eliot and patted him companionably on the back. 

“I gotta get to work. See y’all tomorrow?” Eliot heard himself made some noise of agreement, then Taylor was gone. It was just the two of them. 

“Are you-” 

“El, I’m-” 

Q flushed and rubbed at her nose gently. 

“Sorry you had to see that earlier,” she laughed softly, “I’m okay. Just y’know, a little banged up, it’s really nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing. Q, you-“ Eliot swallowed. 

Took a breath. 

There were worse things Logan Kinnear could do. 

Worse things, Eliot knew. 

But it was fine. 

She was fine. 

“I’m glad you’re okay.” She stepped forward and took Eliot’s hand. 

“Hey. I have an idea.” Her fingers curled and she tugged Eliot forward, just a little. “Wanna come over?” Eliot’s heart was loud in his ears. The thump-thump echoing with Q’s words. 

“Right now?” 

Q smiled. 

“Yeah, right now. My dad’s already here.” She tugged Eliot’s hand again. 

“I- okay.” Eliot said and brushed a loose strand of hair from his face. He could call home, it… it probably wouldn’t be too bad. 

_Q, Q, Q,_ went his heart. 

He could hang out for a bit.

iv.

Q’s house was nice. Smaller than Eliot’s but it felt cozier. Inside were dark green walls and exposed wood. A long leather couch and modestly sized TV sat in their living room, and there was a screen door that led to Q’s backyard. It looked surprisingly lived in for only two months. Q’s dad – “call me Ted” – had left them alone in the kitchen. 

“Now, you ladies don’t get into too much trouble before I’m back,” he said, and left for his home office. (Fancy.) “Come on,” Q said, grabbing a bowl and filling it with chips. 

“Let’s go to my room.” 

Q’s room was more unfinished than the living room and kitchen. A couple _Fillory_ posters had been tacked up on the wall, and a bunk bed was tucked in the corner. Several Ikea bookshelves were half empty, but when they were filled, they were filled with _Fillory_ books. Eliot recognized _The World In the Walls,_ one of those other copies Q had mentioned, along with _The Secret Sea_ and the rest of the five books. There were several unpacked boxes on the floor too, some labeled _Clothes – winter_ or _Clothes – summer_ , one box was slightly opened, Eliot spied a stuffed dragon’s head. 

There was an unzipping noise behind him. 

“Hey, what are you-“ Eliot turned around to see Q triumphantly pulling out the copy of _The World in the Walls_ she had lent him. 

“Climb up on the bed,” Q said, taking Eliot’s hand again. 

“Uh.” 

“Just do it, it’s gonna be fun, I promise.” 

Eliot, unable to argue with something he didn’t know, climbed up the bed and settled within the pillows. Q sidled in next to him, Eliot felt her thin shoulder press against his own and suppressed a shudder. 

“Okay,” Q said, thumping the book, “Where did you stop?” 

“Stop?” Eliot said, finding it hard to concentrate. 

“Stop reading.” 

“Oh, um, just before they went into Fillory, I assume- chapter three.” 

“Sweet.” Q licked her finger, opened the book, and Eliot watched her lips as she began to read. 

_“I don’t see what’s such a big fuss,” said Jane, fiddling with her skirt._

_“Silly old Janey,” said Martin, “It’s the best place in the world! Just wait until you get inside!”_

_“Easy for you,” said Rupert. “I’m too big to fit all the way through.” Rupert stepped forward, cane clicking on the old wood. He took a turn about the clock and rapped the rams horns on top. He sighed._

_“Well, I suppose I must believe you once in a while.”_

_Jane frowned. She didn’t understand what fuss there was to make about an old clock, but Martin was dead set on it._

_“You go first then, Rupes, if you’re afraid you won’t fit.” Martin gestured to the clock door._

“What is _with_ these British nicknames?” Eliot interrupted. “Janey? Rupes?” 

Q elbowed him. 

“They’re literally about to get to Fillory,” she pouted. Eliot felt his heart clench. He looked off. 

“I didn’t say I wasn’t enjoying it… You’re a good reader.” 

Q leaned her head on his shoulder, he could feel her smile. 

“Thanks,” she said softly. “I’m starting again.” 

“Okie dokie.” 

_Rupert opened the door to the clock with a rattle and a click._

_“By Jove!” He cried, “I can see something!” He stepped through and disappeared. Martin cheered, delighted, and followed after him, leaving little Jane in the attic hall._

_“Well,” Jane said to herself, “I must go or else the boys will have all the fun!” With a click of her heel she was gone through the clock and out again into the world of Fillory. Out, the Chatwins stumbled onto the green grass and into the bright sun. The world of Fillory was technicolor and lush, curling leaves and oddly twisting trees rose towards the sky. Jane looked back, perhaps expecting to see the door to the grandfather clock with its unmoving pendulum hanging in the air, but there was nothing._

_The Chatwins had passed into the world in the walls._

_“Martin, you were right, by golly!” said Rupert, clutching his cane in support._

_“Who would’ve thought there’d be a whole world in our attic!” cried Jane._

_“You certainly didn’t,” said Martin, but he was smiling. The three Chatwin children explored their new wonderous world. There was something about the air in Fillory, it made the children feel excited and expectant, as if right around the corner adventure would arrive, and soon it would._

_“Come and look what I found!” Jane called to the boys._

_“Goodness,” said Martin, “I didn’t see that when I was here.”_

_It was a tree, just like one you’d find in any old forest, except this one had a giant clock face embedded in the middle. It ticked and ticked and ticked and told the children that the time was a quarter past two. Rupert rubbed his chin._

_“Now what do you suppose it could be?”_

Eliot rolled his eyes. 

“It’s a clock tree. Like, it’s a clock. In a tree. Simple.” 

“El.” 

“It’s a clock in a tree, Q, that’s pretty self-explanatory.”

Q huffed and continued. 

_“Why, it’s a clock tree!” said a voice from behind them._

“See.” 

“Be quiet, you.” 

_The Chatwin children turned and found themselves face to shrouded face with a tall cloaked figure._

_“What do they do?” Jane asked, stepping forward._

_“Stop time, of course!” said the hooded figure. “Now, why would you want to do that?” asked Martin. “Oh, many reasons. But you children needn't worry about those things.” Rupert frowned._

_“You children must be looking for a way out of The Southern Orchard,” she said, for the children could tell by the figure’s high voice that it was a woman. The Chatwins stood together uncertainly, they didn’t know exactly where they were and it would do very well to get out of the wood for eventually they would need things like food and water and hot baths, but they were hesitant to take advice from a stranger. The Chatwins knew that sometimes strangers were not to be friends._

_Jane, the bravest one, stood forward._

_“How do we get out of this forest, or orchard? Where would we go afterwards? And who are you anyway, why are you here?”_

_The hooded woman laughed._

_“My, my,” said she. “I can answer all three of your questions, never fear! Firstly, you must go North past all the trees until you reach the river that runs from the Twin Harbours. Secondly, you would go to the Castle Whitespire- they’re a jolly bunch and you’re just the troupe they’ve been waiting for. Thirdly, I am the Watcher Woman! I tend to the clock trees and wind them in the day, so they might always keep time.” The Watcher Woman, for that was the truth of who she was, but not the whole truth, pointed North._

_“Go on that way and you’ll reach the river. Mind you don’t get your socks dirty!” So, the Chatwin children, knowing no better, followed her advice, which was kind and true advice even if the advisor was not. And so the Chatwins had their first of many encounters with the Watcher Woman who-_

“Curly Q!” the voice of Ted called from the doorway. 

“Your friend can’t stay all night, not without permission from her parents.” Q grimaced and closed _The World in the Walls._ She carefully climbed out of the bunk bed and waited while Eliot reluctantly followed. Q handed the book back, eyes warm. 

“Maybe I can read you some more? Later?” Eliot felt warm inside, warm like Q’s soft brown eyes, like the heat on his shoulder where Q had pressed up against him. 

“Yeah…yeah.” 

“Come on girls,” Ted said, jingling his keys. 

“El, you just give me directions and I can take you home.” 

“Hey, dad?” Q said. “Yeah, Curly Q,” Ted raised an eyebrow. 

“Can El stay the night? Not today, uh, obviously, but like, this weekend? If she gets permission?” Ted sighed and ruffled Q’s hair. 

“If her parents are okay with it,” he said, looking at Eliot. 

“I’ll ask!” Eliot squeaked.

v.

Outside, it was getting dark. The sun dipped lower and lower past the hills and the sounds of cicadas and other night creatures began to fill the air. Eliot looked towards the house, the porch light was on. He fiddled with his backpack straps and turned towards the crick. He was already in deep shit, probably, so why not make them wait longer? 

He balanced on the rocks that sprung around and within the running water, skipping a little as he went. He felt all shaken up inside, like someone had taken one of those dumb gel sticks – with the little bubbles – and rocked him upside down and back and forth until he was all bubble, no gel. 

Q was…she was making him feel all confused and twisted up inside, through no fault of her own. Seeing her bleeding earlier in the day had shaken him, much more than he’d anticipated. Q was sweet and kind and didn’t deserve to almost break her fucking nose because she was friends with him. God. 

Eliot squeezed his eyes shut and pulled at his too-long hair. Taylor got shit too, Eliot knew he did, but all he could think about was Q. Q who was still the new girl, who still didn’t have many friends. Maybe just Taylor and him. (Although Q liked to mention a Julia who she emailed. Julia from Jersey.) It just felt bad, he felt bad. It wasn’t new though. Eliot always felt bad. And then there were the…feelings he was having. Feelings he’d never had for girls before. 

Maybe it was just Q? 

Just Q. 

But what did it mean? Did it mean Eliot was suddenly, like, a lesbian? He knew- he had read somewhere that there were things called butch and femme. Was that what Q was? A butch lesbian? 

He felt his ankle turn a little on a rock and threw out his arms to steady himself. 

No…no… Eliot. Eliot wasn’t a girl. He knew it. Knew it in his bones. 

So how could he define his feelings for Q? 

Could he? 

Eliot dropped down on a rock and let his socks get dirty, just like what the Chatwins weren’t supposed to do. Everything he felt was like a big _wasn’t._ His chest felt tight and he wished he could take off his bra. _Do something._

Maybe the feelings would go away. 

He would be a girl and Q would just be a cuddly friend. 

God. 

He wished. 

Eliot sniffed and wiped at his eyes. He stood and turned back towards the house. It was fine, dad wouldn’t notice his red eyes, he’d be too busy yelling.

vi.

Home was fine. When he got to school the next day his eyes _weren’t_ black – the telltale sign of a broken nose – and everything was fine. Taylor didn’t point it out. Maybe Q did, but it was fine. Eliot was fine. And by Friday he’d gotten permission for Q’s sleepover, and that was more important than the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! There's no set update schedule but we're gonna truck along my dudes!
> 
> my twitter: @wow__then  
> my tumblr: www.fishfingersandscarves.tumblr.com


	3. Kid Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q has a sleepover. Eliot watches a movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! thank you again for all your wonderful comments ahhh theyre so so sweet ;;;;__;;;)  
> special thanks once again to torie my sweet sweet beta
> 
> i have fanart AHHHHHH 
> 
> LYDIA DREW THE BABIES:  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CCv2PUoDQ6l/
> 
> AND AND @hollysharks on twitter did a water color AND a comic!!!!!!  
> https://twitter.com/hollysharks/status/1284680664281907203?s=20  
> https://twitter.com/hollysharks/status/1284692923309793280?s=20
> 
> excuse me while i crawl into my hole and cry
> 
> OH YEAH ALSO i made a playlist for the fic if ya wanna have a listen:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4moCr6Bni34MKgKrsywroR?si=zlefvdj9T7eBpZ-q1HP0-A
> 
> TW for this chapter is just your run of the mill misgendering and dysphoria

i.

Eliot dropped his sleeping bag with a thump. 

“So where should I…?” he said, looking around the living room. 

“On the couch.” Q said through a mouthful of popcorn. “You can use the pillows too- I’ll, uh, get mine from down the hall.” Q carefully set down her bowl and scampered off to her room. Eliot fluffed a pillow half-heartedly. Three days later and his nose was still sore. And not to mention… 

Eliot looked around the living room where Q’s dad had obviously started decorating first. There were lots of pictures on the walls, Q small with pigtails, Q sitting in a high chair, Q in a little tutu smiling with a blanket over her head, a picture of Q, her dad, and who Eliot assumed was her mom. Eliot stepped closer to the wall and stared at the family photograph. Q’s mom didn’t look…well, she didn’t look happy. She had soft looking wavy hair, thick rimmed glasses and a somewhat faraway look. Eliot wondered why they still had it. 

“I have returned from my pillow-quest!” Eliot turned around and felt himself smile involuntarily. Q chucked a pillow at him. 

“Hey-“ 

Eliot caught it with an oof. 

“Get over here, El, it’s movie time.” 

Eliot squeezed the pillow against his chest. Q was just so- She was so fucking sweet. That was the worst part. Every time Eliot was around her it felt like he’d forgotten how to be human. Her goofy smile, her droopy eyes. It made his heart clench up. Being around Q was like the moment before stepping onstage. His breathing loud and echoing in his ears, his heartbeat fast and thumping, the show lights bright and the house lights dark. Just him and her. 

He felt like every second with her highlighted his inadequacy, that he just didn’t measure up. That just being in her presence was enough to throw him off his game. Not that Eliot had “game.” 

He frowned in mock frustration. 

“It’s not even in the DVD player yet- and you didn’t even tell me what we’re watching.” Eliot batted Q with his pillow. 

“Hey- well, don’t attack me and maybe you’ll know soon.” 

Q winked at him. 

Eliot swallowed. 

What was wrong with him? 

He shook his head and jumped onto the couch, sinking into the leather. It was cool and stuck to the skin in the way only a well sat-upon couch can. He wondered if Ted had bought it used, or if it was from their house in Jersey. He watched Q trot over to a shelf full of DVDs. 

“All I’m saying is this better be good…and that I want a hint.” 

Q looked over her shoulder. 

“It came out last year and that’s the only hint you get.” 

Eliot’s eyes followed her small hands as they dipped under her shirt. A pale bit of stomach exposed for an instant. Q slid the DVD against her chest. 

“Really?” he said, voice high. 

“You technically made this into a mystery,” Q smiled, holding the rectangle to her chest, “I’m just providing some drama.” 

Eliot rolled his eyes. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“ _ You’re  _ ridiculous.” 

Eliot thought about throwing his pillow again, but that would probably defeat his point. 

“You know, if you like drama, you should just audition for the summer musical with me,” he said, as casually as he could.

Q hmmed, pressing the button on the DVD player to open. 

“They’re doing  _ Into the Woods _ and I have no idea how they got the rights to it but- I think it could be cool. Taylor said he was gonna, but now with his grocery store thing I don’t know if he will,” Eliot felt the pillow under his hands, it was almost woolen and soft. “You’d make a great Red Riding Hood- if you can sing, of course.”

Q laughed. “I can’t.” The DVD went in with a click. “But,” she joined Eliot on the couch, grabbing the remote, “I can come as moral support?” The TV clicked on. Q scooted next to him, pressing their shoulders together. Eliot felt his heart race. 

“Yeah,” Eliot said, willing his cheeks not to burn, “I’d like that.”

ii.

“Hey, wait a fucking second I thought you hated  _ Narnia. _ ” Eliot said through a mouthful of pizza. Ted had generously brought back dinner before retreating to his home office (only after getting promises of a clean living room- girl scouts honor). On screen, little Lucy Pevensie was getting sleepy…god, it kinda looked like she had been roofied by James McAvoy. 

“I don’t hate it! I just…think that the  _ Fillory  _ books are infinitely better,” Q said, knees tucked under her. “Plus, there’s no  _ Fillory  _ movie,” she frowned. “So, I have to enjoy whatever portal fantasy I get.” 

“Uhuh,” Eliot said. The movie continued.

-

“Wait so- Aslan is a talking lion? What the fuck.” 

“El, there’s talking animals in the  _ Fillory  _ books- they talked to beavers! Why are you surprised,” Q laughed. “I just thought he’d be some hot dude…his voice is nice…” Eliot grumbled. He let himself sink down on the couch until his whole body was folded. Q followed him down and beamed. 

“Yeah, uh, well, Liam Neeson is pretty great.” 

“That’s Liam Neeson?” Eliot yelled. 

“We have neighbors!” Came the sound of Q’s dad from down the hall. 

“Sorry! Sorry…” Eliot winced and felt himself sink lower to the floor. Q was giggling. 

“You didn’t know?” 

“Of course, I didn’t know! I haven’t seen this!”

-

Q’s short hair tickled Eliot’s nose. She was laying upside down on the couch, feet kicking in the air. Eliot was still on the ground. He blew a hair out of his face. 

“I don’t understand why Mr. Tumnus only wears a scarf.” 

“Oh?” Q said. She tried to look at Eliot and only succeeded in almost tumbling off the couch. Eliot grabbed her shoulders to keep her from falling. 

“So, all the other fauns- they wear clothes, right?” Eliot gestured at the TV where Peter and the rest were getting ready for battle. The music swelled. Peter raised his sword and yelled, galloping forward. It was very dramatic. 

“But, Mr. Tumnus doesn’t.” Q squinted at the TV. 

“Maybe he’s an exhibitionist.” 

She tried to sit up and knocked the back of her head to Eliot’s forehead. 

“Ah! Sorry!” 

“You’re good,” he said, rubbing his forehead. Q rolled her body awkwardly until she landed with a thump sideways on the couch cushion. She wiggled and wiggled until she was finally sitting upright. Eliot snorted and joined her.

Iii.

It was one AM. In the dark, the white popcorn ceiling morphed and changed into different faces and designs. Eliot blinked, the world behind his eyelids almost matching the black of the night. His body felt cold and warm all over, the insulation of the sleeping bag at odds with the air conditioning. He turned his head, quietly, quietly, and his eye caught the blinking blue light of the router next to the TV. He watched it blip in and out, in and out. 

Q lay on the floor between the coffee table and the couch. He couldn’t tell if she was asleep. Eliot fumbled with his fingers underneath his sleeping back. His whole body felt slow and big like a giant who’s so big it’s impossible for them to move fast. He couldn’t sleep, but he was exhausted.

“Q,” he whispered. “Are you awake?” 

“Yeah,” she said. He heard rustling from the floor. Q was shifting. Eliot continued to look up. 

“Can I ask something?” 

“Sure.” 

“Why did you move?” 

Silence in the dark. Eliot listened to Q’s breathing. It was a little nasally, maybe her nose was stuffed. Q didn’t answer for a long time; so long, Eliot thought she’d fallen back asleep, if she ever had been. 

“My parents got divorced.” 

_ Rustle, rustle _ . The sound of Q’s blankets were deafening in the quiet. 

“Oh.” 

“My mom cheated on my dad.” 

“Oh _. _ ” 

Q laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. 

Eliot watched the dark popcorn faces, worrying at his lip. 

“She- My mom fucked my babysitter. And like, she was a family friend and stuff but sometimes I just think like- if I hadn’t liked Molly so much. She wouldn’t have kept coming. Like, I’m the one who kept begging for her to hang out with me. But, but- my mom. My mom, she just, as soon as she had a reason, as soon as possible she was gone. And it’s like- like I did that, you know. She left and so we moved here.” Q’s voice was ragged and thick. “She’s with Molly and I’m here,” she whispered. 

Eliot’s heart ached. 

In the silence he pulled a hand out from his sleeping bag and left it hanging, open, an invitation. Q took it. They laid in the dark together, Q’s hand keeping the chill away. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Q squeezed his hand. 

“Yes.” Eliot squeezed back. 

“Does your-“ she began, her grip tight. “Did your dad hit you the other day?” 

Eliot closed his eyes. 

“No,” he lied. 

He sat up suddenly and laughed, a hollow sound. 

“No, I tripped while feeding our chickens. Lost my balance since I was carrying a bunch of feed and went splat on the ground.” He smiled in the dark, bitter. “It happens. I’m clumsy.” Q sat up on the floor. Eliot couldn’t see her expression. He just looked at the blinking light, red, black, red. 

“Okay.”  _ Rustle, rustle. _ The couch dipped. “Ask me something else.” Eliot closed his eyes. He let himself lean, just a little, on Q’s slender shoulder. 

“Why are you allergic to wearing skirts?” He said, forcing his voice to be light. “Don’t like the breeze between your legs, Curly Q?” Q elbowed him but it was gentle. 

“I just don’t like them. Why do you only wear skirts? Don’t you like being able to cross your legs, ha?” Q teased, poking Eliot’s side. 

“I’m not allowed,” he said, frowning. 

“Oh.” 

Q took his hand again and laced their fingers together. It was warm. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. It just don’t cross my legs.” Eliot said, voice light, too light in the dark. Q wrapped her blanket around them. Eliot was bracketed by warmth, the sleeping bag, the blanket, Q. Yet, the chill of the air conditioning still crept in, making the hairs on his neck stand straight. He shivered. 

“Q” 

“Yeah?” 

Eliot paused. 

Q waited. 

“Why are you allowed to have your hair so short?” 

“Allowed? It’s my hair?” Q said, half smiling into Eliot’s shoulder. 

“No I mean-“ 

“Why are you asking?” 

“Just asking.” Eliot said. 

“Well, uh, it’s my hair and my dad says it’ll grow back anyway.” 

“Do you want it to grow back? So it’s long?” 

“You mean- like yours?” Q said, something coloring her voice. 

“Yeah.” 

Q reached up with her free hand and touched Eliot’s braid, fiddling with the curls at the end. “No, not as long as yours,” she said, voice soft. She sighed. “Maybe it’ll be longer one day? I don’t know. I just like the short showers.” Q laughed softly. 

“Fair,” Eliot said, “I have to use horse shampoo- my hair’s so thick.” Q petted at Eliot’s braid. 

“It’s definitely working though. Your hair’s really soft.” 

“Thanks.” 

Silence again.

Eliot looked at Q. 

“Who’s Julia?” 

Q blinked and let go of Eliot’s hair. He felt the loss. 

“She’s my best friend. Why?” 

“I don’t know, you mention her sometimes. I’m curious.” 

“Well, if it wasn’t-“ Q looked at the digital clock. “Two in the morning, I’d take you to the computer room and we could email her. We’ve known each other since we were babies and she moved to New York last year, so we’ve been emailing and stuff. She’s like, my digital best friend, ha.” 

“Must be nice.” 

“Yeah,” Q smiled. “She’s the one that got me to read  _ Fillory  _ so technically, you should be thanking her for the book.” 

“Eh, I’ll just thank you. Since, you’re the one that’s here and all.” 

Q frowned. 

“Yeah…” 

Eliot flexed his fingers gently and Q let go. 

“Yeah, well. Maybe one day she’ll visit. Or I’ll go to her, or- Or you could come with me and all three of us could go to New York.” Eliot rubbed at his hand, it was cold. 

“You’re forgetting someone,” he said. Q made a confused noise. 

“Taylor, silly.” “Oh, shit. Yeah. Taylor could pay for the trip, since he’s got his fancy new job.” Eliot laughed quietly. “Sounds good to me.” Q yawned, her whole body shaking. 

“Oh man, uh,” she blinked rapidly. “I guess we should actually sleep? It is…two AM….” 

Eliot felt like he could stay up all night with Q. Until the morning light flooded the living room windows and blinded their sleepy heavy eyes and all they could see was each other. But, Q was right, and Eliot was tired. Q laid her head on Eliot’s shoulder and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Eliot looked down at her, the heat from her skin radiating into his shoulder. Eliot shivered.

“Goodnight, El.” 

Eliot closed his eyes, feeling warm and cold all over. 

“Goodnight, Q.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! There's no set update schedule but we're gonna truck along my dudes!
> 
> my twitter: @wow__then  
> my tumblr: www.fishfingersandscarves.tumblr.com/


	4. Stubborn Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys experience of the perks of summer. Eliot spends some money.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hellooooooooo sorry it's been so long since the last update! depression, dysphoria and school has been kicking my ass- also i got stuck on the first scene for like several weeks asdjhfjksdfj  
> thank you to torie who betaed the last three chapters <3333  
> and thank you to airenn who betaed this chapter!! 
> 
> i actually remembered how to embed stuff (bc MHEA demands it lol) soooo if you go back my art is now actually in the fic! (working on the fanart- which again is SOOOOOO FUCKING AMAZING and i cry everytime i look at it) 
> 
> i'm excited to get the ball rolling again because this ride has only just gotten started!! and thank you for all the lovely comments they make my day and validate me like nothing else <3
> 
> also i've officially broken 10k with this chapter and that in itself is an accomplishment bc i usually only write one shots lmao so WOOO
> 
> TW for this chapter is misgendering, dysphoria and swimming
> 
> thank you for reading and please enjoy!

i.

Ah, eighth grade promotion. Middle school losers no longer. No, now Eliot was a loser in  _ High School. _ Though, he wondered, did it really count if all the grades went to the same school? Probably not. 

The almost-summer sun beat down on his back, the heat prickled his skin, made worse by his long heavy hair. That new song- Tim McGraw or whatever- was blasting over the speakers. Eliot was sweating in his little plastic chair and every time he shifted, his dark dress would catch at the corner and ruck itself out of place and he’d burn against the metal legs. 

God knew why he was wearing heels on  _ grass.  _ His dad had insisted, but it wasn’t like he was even here. Eliot looked over the sea of his peers, an easy feat for one so tall. His mom’s white hat glared in the light of the sun. At least she had shown up. 

He wiped the moisture from his brow and looked around. They all sat in alphabetical order, so Q was- somewhere. Taylor was a little way behind him. Eliot never really paid attention to last names and he wasn’t going to start now. Logan Kinnear sat two rows ahead of him. Him and his douchebag buddies. Eliot avoided looking in their direction. The principal was- talking, probably. Saying something about promotion like it was some big deal when everyone knew it was graduation that people actually got emotional about. Like, Jesus Christ, it’s just middle school. 

Eliot fanned himself half-heartedly. The thick Indiana heat pressed against him like an over-enthusiastic dog at a friend’s house: big, stifling, and full of warm-wet excitement. Maybe the three of them could get dinner later? Eliot’s dad wasn’t a forgiving person…but he was forgetful, especially six beers in, and since summer was officially socially appropriate drinking season, his dad was knocking it back like it was water. Eliot crossed his fingers that he wouldn’t notice him gone. 

The promotion ended with a speech from some random girl who Eliot maybe recognized from his fourth period. She talked about how High School was a time of change and self-discovery, blah blah blah. 

Then, it was over, and Eliot was officially a freshman. 

Hooray. 

He walked towards his mom and scanned the crowd, searching for Taylor and Q. “Elinor, baby, these are for you.” His mom handed him a bouquet. Bright yellow sunflowers, some white daisies, and other smaller flowers he didn’t recognize. The plastic crinkled under his sweaty palms and Eliot looked up at his mother, who smiled with uncertainty. 

“So, you’re in High School now,” Eliot’s mom said, she touched his face gently for a second before dropping it. 

“How does it feel?” 

Eliot thought for a moment. 

“The same?” 

His mom laughed. 

“Miss-Too-Cool-For-School is that what you are?” 

Eliot grimaced. 

“Definitely,” he said, turning back to the crowd. “Mamma, did you see Taylor anywhere?” He squinted, looking around in the sun. 

“No,” she said, adjusting her hat, “But there’s a mousy little girl giving you the eye. Do you know her?” Eliot followed her gaze. 

“Q!” he called. Q ran over, nearly tripping as she went; her dad followed with a cry of “hold on!” 

“El!” Q said, warm eyes shining. 

“Dad said you and Taylor could come and hang out at our house during the summer – whenever!”

Ted caught up and laughed, “As long as you tell me first.”

ii.

Summer began the way all summers should: with heat and sweat and - ugh - no AC. Eliot made it his mission to stay  _ out  _ of the house. So, here he was at the Indiana State pool, an hour and a half away from Whiteland courtesy of Mr-Ted-Insert-Last-Name-Here-Q’s-Dad. It was the only pool around and the biggest, considering it was for a college. Eliot pulled the towel around his chest closer and looked around. The pool itself was long, like, football field long (though probably, Eliot admitted, not really that big) and it looked deep. 

Eliot could swim. 

He could. 

Still he rocked with uncertainty on his heels near the water. There was that special kind of echo you get from being around a pool, the sound of wet feet slapping on concrete, the cries of babies in the kiddie pool, and the idle  _ tweets  _ of a bored lifeguard’s whistle. Eliot pushed a loose curl away from his face. His hair was pulled back in a French braid- his mom had insisted, saying his hair was too thick and would just “cloud around his face like oil in the ocean.” 

Eliot tugged at his hair. His legs prickled with gooseflesh and he swallowed, gazing at the rippling water. Underneath his towel he wore a bikini. He didn’t fit any of his mom’s swim clothes so they had gone to Walmart, Eliot had stared out of the car window, pressing his palm to his chin and sighed. Inside his mom had pulled him towards the swimwear and the men’s section had caught his eye. Eliot had stared longingly at the men’s swim trunks - drab and grey though most of them were. His mom had waved a hand in his face and handed him a pile of clothes, pointing towards the changing room. What followed after was a montage of Eliot in swimsuits, each the more revealing and frilly than the last. “You look so cute!” Eliot’s mom had exclaimed, even if the suit looked nearly identical to the one before. She settled on a bikini with a kind of blue-green tie-dye color. “To bring out your eyes.” Eliot had nodded uncomfortably. 

Now, his heart echoed in his chest. 

The waterproof fabric pressed into his neck, making it uncomfortable every time he turned his neck. He was also itchy and cold, and he knew it would get worse the moment he dropped his towel- which is why he hadn’t yet. Q waved at him from the stairs. She had her feet in the water already and was wearing a bronze one-piece, smiling. She looked cute. 

“Get over here!” she called, splashing the water a bit. 

“I don’t wanna get my hair wet,” Eliot said. 

Half a lie but he stepped a little closer anyway. 

“What’s the point of being at a pool if you won’t get wet?” Q laughed. She tucked her bangs behind her ear. She glanced at the water and back at Eliot. “Just- El, Taylor’s already in and I wanna join him.” Eliot scanned the pool again, and yep, there was Taylor doing butterfly strokes near the deep end. He caught Eliot’s eye and swam over. Eliot watched the water lap against his bare chest with envy. At the edge of the pool, Taylor lifted himself up, kicking water idly, resting his chin on his arms.

“The water’s fine,” he said, splashing his hand in for effect. “C’mon Ellie, don’t be chicken.” He winked. 

“You’re such a dick,” Eliot rolled his eyes. “If my hair gets wet you guys have to help brush it out later.” Taylor flicked some water at him. 

“Get in already,” he said. Eliot dropped his towel and took a deep breath. 

Better to get it over with, right? 

He made his way to the edge of the deep end and took one, two steps back. The water loomed in front of him, rolling and choppy. The tiles were cold beneath his bare feet. Eliot flexed his toes and rocked a little. He looked over, past the pool, at Q. She sat watching. Eliot took a deep breath and jumped. 

Underwater Eliot was cocooned. He opened his eyes and blinked, once, twice. Dappled blue light shone around him, hitting parts of his body in swimming rays, light and insubstantial. Eliot watched his hand in the water; he moved it through the wet, feeling the drag and weight of it. It was quiet. The pressure of the deep end sealed his ears, and made all sounds dimmer, nonexistent. Eliot flapped his arms, kicked his legs, and floated suspended underneath. Maybe he could do a somersault, or handstand? 

He blew some air from his lungs and watched the bubbles float up, up. Eliot shook his head. He could already feel his hair becoming heavy, looser. He blew another bubble in frustration. Eliot kicked his feet and broke to the surface with a cough. 

He doggy paddled a little, kicking the water roughly to keep his head up. Taylor cheered. Eliot flipped him off. Q had slipped into the water when he dove and was now paddling towards him. She reached him with a mighty splash which threw water directly into Eliot’s face. 

“That wasn’t so hard,” she kicked the water with effort, “Was it?” Eliot smiled, unable to help himself. 

“You’re also a dick.” Q laughed and then coughed as pool water got into her mouth.

iii.

“Can I come over to your house?” 

“What?” 

Eliot looked up from his character sheet. Q’s dad had found an old Dungeons and Dragons box set. He couldn’t remember where he had got it from, but Q’s eyes had downright gleamed when she got hold of the box. They had been making their characters for a game. Taylor -there when they had found the box- offered to be the Dungeon Master, citing his “superior storytelling skills,” Q and Eliot had both rolled their eyes but agreed. He was out now, doing a shift at the store, leaving Eliot with Q. 

Eliot’s character was an Elf ranger, Q had looked over his shoulder and complained that Eliot was just making “Legolas with short hair.” Eliot argued that he hadn’t seen Lord of the Rings when it came out so “how could it be him anyway, Q, really, you’re just jealous of how cool he looks.” Plus, Eliot had seen Q’s character, and she had been drawing the burliest, hairiest barbarian Eliot had ever seen, practically a paperback love interest, so who was Q to critique his great work? 

“I said,'' Q reached over the table and grabbed a brown colored pencil, “Can I come over to your house.” 

Eliot frowned. 

“Why would you do that?” 

“Because I haven’t been there? Julia and I used to hang out at each other’s houses all the time, plus I wanna see your room.” 

Eliot looked at the popcorn ceiling. “You don’t want to see my room.” 

Q scoffed. “You’re not a messy person, El, I’ve seen your locker and your schedule, if you don’t remember. I’m sure your room looks fine.” 

Eliot closed his eyes and swallowed. “No, Q, I just-“ He looked back at Q, which was a mistake, Q was looking at him with that kicked puppy look on her face, the one that made Eliot sweat. 

“Why don’t you want me to come over?” 

Eliot tore a corner off his character sheet and rolled it into a little ball. “It’s complicated.” 

Q frowned. 

“Complicated isn’t- that just makes me wonder more,” she leaned back in her chair. “El, you’re always hanging out at my house and stuff and it’s- I don’t want to stop that but I’ve  _ never _ \- Dad dropped you off that one time but I think that’s like, the closest I’ve been. And I want to- to-“ Q groaned and ran a frustrated hand through her hair. 

Eliot’s heart clenched. 

He stood up abruptly and went to her, surprising Q and himself. He took her hand. 

“I want you to come over, I do. But, Q, I just- I don’t think you should.” Eliot looked into her eyes pleadingly, willing her to get it, to understand  _ why.  _ Q looked back at him, her small lips pressed into a thin line. Her brown eyes searched in that jumpy not quite still kind of way. There was a pause. Then, she nodded. 

“Okay,” she said, softly. “Okay.”

iv.

Working during the summer was just- Eliot hated it, hated it so much. At least Taylor got air conditioning. He complained about it, how it got way too  _ cold  _ in the store and how sometimes he had to bring a jacket. That sounded like Heaven to Eliot, who had to run around the house and farm, shoveling shit and running errands in the muggy heat. 

He had been moving hay bales of all things, feeling more and more the farm boy stereotype in his overalls and plaid, his hair pulled back in a low ponytail. It fell in front of his face now, loose in its hair tie. He pushed it from his sweaty face with a huff. His head was hot from the sun. He’d forgotten to bring a hat with him, and he was too tired to go back inside only to come back out again. Eliot dropped the bale he was carrying and plopped down on it wearily. 

He tugged at his hair, the dull pain waking him a little from his heat haze. He twisted the thick strands around his finger, staring as it wove between his hand. What he wouldn’t give for it to be gone. 

Eliot thought about Q’s hair: short, loose, soft. Not that he really knew that last part, but it looked soft, and Q was always pushing it back from her face. She did it when she was nervous, or excited and it was just- Eliot fanned himself in the heat. He felt into his pockets. He had a twenty and ten saved from doing various housework adjacent favors. He could go somewhere with air conditioning, where he wouldn’t feel like he was melting into the ground. He pulled at his hair again, frowning. Then, he had an idea. 

He sat up with a start and dusted himself off. He had to do it. Eliot had to, he- this courage or this impulse would probably disappear and then he would just be unhappy again. He winced at the thought of his mom’s reaction, of his dad’s. But, he steeled himself- he could ask for forgiveness, right? It would be okay, it was like what Q said: it was just hair. It would grow back anyway. 

Walking up to the hair salon was nerve wracking. Eliot clutched the thirty dollars in his pocket, hoping it was enough. He figured if he went to a professional it would look better than whatever his first attempt at cutting or, oh Lord, buzzing his head, would ever be. He felt dizzy. It was probably something like heat exhaustion but the cocktail of anxiety and anticipation in his gut carried him forwards through the doors. The smell of chemicals immediately hit his nose. It was cool inside, and mercifully there weren’t a lot of people inside. He walked up to the receptionist’s desk cautiously like he was approaching a dangerous animal, though he felt like the one who would be spooked. 

“Well, hello little lady,” the woman at the desk smiled up at him from where she had been buffing her nails. “What can I do you for?” Eliot smiled back at her. He felt like he was gonna throw up. “I wanted to get my haircut, uh, ma’am,” he said. He pulled out the twenty and ten, crumpled from where he had gripped them like a lifeline in his pocket. 

“I, um, don’t know if that’s enough or if you take walk-ins? I just,” he swallowed. “I need it short.” The woman at the desk took the bills and carefully spread them out, smoothing out the wrinkles and folds. 

“That looks like plenty, dear,” she pulled out something and checked it. “If you just sit tight in that chair over there we can have you cut and dried in ten, okay?” Eliot nodded, eyes wide. She smiled again. “Sit yourself down, darling, it’ll just be a minute.” 

He sat down, feeling the bounce of the cheap blend leather of the chair. He took a breath, then another. His chest felt tight and pinched. He fiddled with his hands, his hair. His hair that would be shorter very soon. Oh God. Eliot swallowed and looked for something to catch his eye. He spotted a magazine and grabbed it desperately. It was full of different styles and cuts and the names for each. Probably something he should know. He flipped through, a little quickly because uh,  _ stress,  _ and stopped on the page for women’s short styles. He didn’t…he didn’t want a woman’s haircut and looking at the feminine curls made him feel a swirling kind of envy and sickness. He noted the name- pixie. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted but it was what he could probably get away with. 

He closed the magazine, a wave of stress and anxiety rolling through him. He was going to be in  _ so much trouble. _

“Hon?” Eliot’s head snapped around, his hair whipping with him. It was the woman from the desk. “I’m ready for you.” He stood with shaky legs, feeling off-kilter and liable to keel over at any minute. Eliot moved shakily forward and sat where she directed him. “Now you want it short- what’s your name, dear? I’m Laurie.” 

“El.” 

“Okay, El, you want it short, yes? Just a trim or are we going for a big chop?” Eliot watched himself in the mirror as he pulled his hair out of its tie. “The… the big chop, yeah.” The woman- Laurie, smiled at him and began prepping behind him. “Now, El, I’m gonna braid your hair first and then start cutting, okay?” Eliot nodded and then stopped. 

Moving his head was something he probably shouldn’t do in a hair salon. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Laurie pulled a black apron around his neck and a little bit of towel too. “Snug as a bug,” she said. “Is this your first cut, baby?” 

“Um, yeah.” Eliot watched in the mirror mesmerized as Laurie got out the hair clippers. She patted his shoulder comfortingly. Laurie had a teased bob and blonde hair that was just a touch bleached. 

“You’re sure?” she said, giving him one last out. Eliot watched himself in the mirror. He looked at his face, bracketed by his long hair and didn’t have to consider. 

“I’m sure,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! There's no set update schedule but we're gonna truck along my dudes!
> 
> my twitter: @wow__then  
> my tumblr: www.fishfingersandscarves.tumblr.com/


	5. Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summer ends. Taylor and Eliot have a conversation. Q does some drawing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! thank you SO so much for all the wonderful comments on this fic, they mean the world to me. My classes have finally begun and since they're online i'm still trying to juggle my schedule while also finding time to write (it also doesn't help that i have like 4 other plot bunnies jumping around in my brain at once) but things are finally picking up! i've been waiting to write some of the stuff that's coming up in future chapters and i hope you'll all enjoy it as much as I am writing it!
> 
> Also! you may have noticed the chapter count has changed! that's because i've condensed some things in my outline and shifted some stuff around so y'all will have longer chapters! :D
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta Airenn who is an incredible speed reader and to Maii, Kate, Caleb and Liam who are my number one conspirators
> 
> edit: drew some art lmao AND i've been going through and embedding fanart!
> 
> TW for this chapter: references to child abuse/domestic abuse, major injury/bleeding, homophobic slurs, and transphobic slurs

i.

Eliot had a black eye. It was plum-purple and tender to touch. A quick press of the fingers left him hissing in pain and wincing, blowing air out of his teeth with a grimace. He also had a busted lip. The peach-pink color of his nose made him look like a drunk. 

The red ring of new blood had dripped down his chin and mixed with his spit when he leaned over the sink. The lemon-yellow light of the bathroom illuminated his blood: bright red and stark against the porcelain. He looked in the mirror and pressed against his face cautiously. He winced, the skin tenderized and painful under his finger’s light pressure. He glanced at the door and watched the light just underneath it. A shadow, two feet, it walked it’s way to the door and paused. Eliot held his breath and his nose. The person stepped away, maybe deciding he wasn’t worth the effort. 

He grabbed some toilet paper from beside the toilet and rolled it into a rough cone shape. Eliot stuffed the paper into his nose and pinched, hissing at the sensation. His teeth felt rattled- not loose thank God- he took a few experimental bites of nothing, feeling the soreness of his mouth. His jaw felt twisted and strange- the impact of a fist an echo on his skin. 

(His father’s voice: “I didn’t raise no dyke bitch!”) 

His wrist too, was another casualty. He stopped pinching his nose and tenderly gripped his right wrist. It was sore, pulled a little, but probably not broken. Good. Luckily, he was left handed. 

Eliot met his own eyes in the mirror. Hazel and puffy with broken blood vessels and bruised tender skin, but they were bright. He hadn’t imagined what it would feel like, to not have inches and inches of hair down his back. 

He found himself running his hand over the back of his neck, up and down, up and down. Feeling the hair turn when he pushed it the wrong way, feeling the curve of his skull. His curls still tumbled in front of his face, but his hair had curled even more in the humidity. No longer weighed down, it rose from his head like an unkept bird’s nest. He pulled a short lock of hair and watched it bounce back. 

He smiled.

ii.

“Ellie, your face.” Taylor said, gaping like a fish. 

It was a rare day when Eliot went to Taylor’s house. They were friends first and foremost, but with Taylor’s new job the summer had been mostly dedicated to Q. Eliot felt a little guilty about that. So here he was with a spanking new haircut and bloodied to boot. 

He’d washed off the dried blood, iced the black eye and his numerous bruises - he’d found two more, both knees, when he’d fallen and tried to catch himself - and wrapped his wrist to the best of his ability, cutting up an old blouse in the process. 

He grinned, feeling manic and wild. 

“I got a haircut.” 

“I - Yeah, I can see that.” 

Taylor came to him like a zookeeper might approach a tranqued tiger, cautious and slow. He stopped just short and frowned at Eliot, taking him in. The immediate joy of having short hair was the only thing keeping him upright if Eliot was honest with himself. 

He was trying not to think of the fallout of his decision. His mother’s surprise and quiet resignation. His dad’s opposite reaction. The fact that his mom had left the room after the first time his dad pushed him roughly against the wall. The fact that he wasn’t allowed to audition for the summer musical anymore. The fact that he technically wasn’t allowed to be at Taylor’s house or Q’s for the rest of the summer. The fact, the fact, the fact. 

Taylor tenderly tugged on a curl. 

“It looks nice.” 

His tone was light, but he frowned when he said it. 

“You’ll have to teach me how to style it.” Eliot said, ignoring Taylor’s expression. His hair, so long and heavy before had almost been straight. Taylor’s hair was wavy and cropped, crunchy sometimes from gel. 

“Yeah, okay.” Taylor sighed, like he was conceding something. They started inside, but Taylor stopped, almost knocking Eliot back. 

“You know this’ll just make it worse,” he said. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Eliot said. 

“Don’t lie to me, Elinor, you’re not stupid.” Taylor said, his voice flat and rough. Eliot grit his teeth. 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Logan’s just gonna get worse if you keep it. He already calls you a queer; you wanna be called a tranny too?” 

Eliot stepped back feeling like he’d been slapped. “So what,” he hissed, eyes darting around to see if anyone was listening. 

“He already beats the shit outta me fives times a week like it’s his goddamn job. And it’s summer, I don’t go into town.” 

Taylor laughed bitterly. 

Where had this come from? Eliot felt off-kilter and strange. 

“I do. _ I do, _ and I have to listen to him and his asshole friends call me a fag and a fucking cocksucker while I’m trying to stack fucking ramen. I think the only reason I haven’t seen him trying to fuck up Q is ‘cause he doesn’t know where she lives. And Q - “ Taylor clenched his hands. “Q - you should hear the things they’ve called her. You didn’t have class with her like I did. God, Ellie - “ Taylor scrubbed at his face, looking pained and stressed in a way Eliot didn’t think he’d ever seen before. “I don’t want to go through that again.” 

“I - '' Eliot began, but ‘I’ what? There was nothing he could say to make it better. Taylor had sighed for a reason. He knew and Eliot knew too: he wasn’t gonna stop cutting his hair, now that he’d done it. This was a permanent change, and they would all suffer for it. 

“Just,” Taylor sucked in a breath and blew air loudly out of his nose. “I’ll see you when classes start, okay?” 

Eliot blinked. 

Blinked again. 

He could feel his vision clouding. He was tearing up and that…that was unacceptable. Eliot nodded and turned on his heels, not looking back.

iii. 

The rest of the summer passed in a blur. It was as if time had taken on a syrupy quality, thick and sloshing around but then suddenly you’re out of the bottle and onto the pancake. It was September. Eliot had been cut off from his friends: lying about being sick to Q and… well, avoiding Taylor. But high school was the great unifier and now Eliot was back in class. 

It wasn’t too bad to be honest. Eliot and Taylor had seemed to come to an agreement and that agreement was “we’ll both pretend that everything is fine when we both know it very much isn’t.” If Q was aware of anything she didn’t say. Q was more concerned with studying for the PSAT which, Eliot reminded her, wasn’t until their sophomore year so they had plenty of time and please _ please _ get your workbook off of my copy of  _ Tiger Beat _ you’ll bend the pages and then I’ll have to pay the library fee. Life went on, Eliot supposed, you just had to buck up and get  _ on _ with it. So, getting on Eliot did. He studied; math was the only class Eliot really excelled at aside from theater but with Q and Taylor’s (reluctant) help he managed to read through the first three chapters of  _ The Great Gatsby _ before giving up the ghost. (He’d get the sparknotes from Q later.) 

And maybe Eliot picked up a bad habit when he started bumming cigarettes from Mandy Ivenhouse after sixth but who was gonna get mad at him? His dad? Q? 

He let out a choking laugh and promptly hacked on cigarette smoke.

iv.

On the first chilly day of October, Eliot finally went back to Q’s house. He’d been avoiding it for…obvious reasons….but Q had insisted and Eliot was weak. They were going to make costumes, Q had declared. Apparently, she had always dressed up and trick or treated with Julia - Eliot still had yet to be introduced - and they had always matched. Eliot tried to think of a time when he and Taylor had trick or treated. 

He couldn’t remember. 

He didn’t want to think about it. 

So, here he was, back again at the Q residence. Ted had just waved at him when they went up to Q’s room. 

Q’s bedroom was more settled, it kinda made Eliot think of that  _ Pride and Prejudice _ movie his mom had taken him to two years ago. Where Keira Knightly had gone to Mr. Darcy’s huge house and seen the full scope of his personality. 

The boxes were gone, and the walls had been painted a nice powder blue. The blinds on Q’s window were open and her desk chair was stacked with laundry. The bookshelves were all filled now, along with the  _ Fillory _ books there were textbooks and other fantasy novels. The stuffed dragon was nestled in between the stacks. Eliot’s heart ached. Q reached under her bunk bed, straining a bit. Her arms were a little too short. Eliot carefully deposited what he had been carrying onto Q’s desk. His mom’s old Singer sewing machine. Eliot could sew by hand and that was all well and good, but he didn’t want to spend eight fucking hours making pants when it could take two. Not that he didn’t wanna spend time with Q he just didn’t want tendonitis at the tender age of fourteen. 

“So,” he said, getting the machine ready and untangling the foot pedal. “You never told me what we were making exactly.” 

“Okay well,” Q said, grunting as she pulled out a huge container of scrap fabric. “I don’t have a plan per say, more just an idea?” She grabbed some white linen and began to methodically unfold it. “That new  _ Pirates _ movie - the uh, World’s End or something? It's not out yet but I figured, hey, pirates! Plus, we could make some puffy shirts and stuff like uh-“ Q spread the linen on the floor and blew away a stray thread. She reached back into the container and brought out a paper grocery bag and began cutting it. 

“Like that guy uh, Oscar uh-“ 

“Wilde?” 

“Yeah, like those shirts that he wore. You were talking about him the other day so, I thought, yeah uh, I thought it would be cool.” Her voice peaked at the end, turning her statement into more of a question. 

Eliot smiled softly. “It’s a good idea, Q.” 

“Oh!” Q’s eyes lit up. “Oh. Good, good, that’s good.” She pushed her bangs out of her eyes and smiled, all crinkly and squinty. 

Eliot’s heart thumped stupidly. 

“Plus, I looked up some videos on how to do it- I found some on like historical costuming and El oh my god it’s so fucking cool - but I like, paused it a bunch and wrote down measurements. I also emailed Jules and she uh...” Q looked around her legs for something. “Do you have a pencil?” 

“Oh yeah.” Eliot grabbed one from the desk and handed it over. Q began drawing on the paper she had laid out. 

“She went to the library, the big New York one - she moved like last week? Mackenzie’s going to some fancy university so the whole family moved out- and checked out some books on costuming and stuff and got them to scan the pages. She tried to fax them to dad but got the code wrong or something so she just emailed me all the pictures instead. I printed them out and all we gotta do is adjust the measurements and like, starting sewing.” 

“Cool, but then, Q, doesn’t that mean we have to write down our measurements before we start drawing a pattern?” Eliot asked, looking pointedly at where Q was drawing a roughly Eliot sized rectangle. 

Q paused. 

“Oh,” she said. 

Eliot laughed. “Give me the measuring tape.” 

Q handed it over, her face just a bit pink. Their fingers lingered for just a moment. Q was warm, always warm. It was a mystery why she always wore so many layers, running hot as she did. Bulky sweaters, doubled up t-shirts, sweatshirts. It was like she was always hiding herself. The only time Eliot could remember seeing her in something other than double layers was at the pool and even then, when they had driven back to Q’s house, she had worn a t-shirt and jacket over her swimsuit. 

“El?” Q said, breaking Eliot from his reverie. 

He pulled his hand away. 

“Um,” Eliot cleared his throat and fiddled with the measuring tape. 

“Put your arms up and lemme just-“ He unrolled the tape, almost dropping it with his fumbling. Q watched him struggle with dutifully raised arms. At last, he got to measuring. 

“So,” Q said, watching Eliot write down her arm measurements. “You know a lot about this - sewing, I mean.” 

“Yeah,” Eliot’s pencil scratched on the printer paper. “I’ve been making my own stuff for a bit, skirts and whatever.” 

“Is that something you wanna do?” Q craned her neck over her shoulder, arms still out even though they were technically done with that part of the measuring. 

“Sewing?” 

“Costumes, clothing. You love theatre and I know costuming is like, a thing you can do for it.” 

“I feel like I should be asking you that. You’ve got the huge box of fabric.” 

“Oh, yeah, right, well,” Q’s hair fell in her eyes, she looked over at the box of fabric. “My mom likes to sew and do arts and crafts and stuff? She’s uh, a painter mostly but she tried sculpting with different fabrics and, um, when she didn’t like it anymore she gave it all to me to use; told me to make a Fillory flag with it.” Q laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. 

Eliot tucked the pencil behind his ear and rose to face Q. 

"Wrists.” 

“What? Oh.” 

Q held up her wrists obediently.

“You know,” Eliot said, gently wrapping the measuring tape around Q’s wrist. “If you don’t want it, I could take it. I’m sure my mom would appreciate it, plus, uh.” Eliot put his finger where the tape met and bent down to write the number down, balancing the paper on his knee. “I’d like to practice making stuff I - you’re right, costuming is something I love. I’ve been thinking about, um, making a waistcoat. But I don’t have any fabric at home. Well, actually I do, but I don’t think my mom would like it if I cut up my bedsheets.” Q giggled. Eliot looked up from writing, nervous and smiling. Their eyes met. 

“Of course, you can have them, El.” Q murmured. 

Eliot watched her lips move, soft and pink. 

“Thanks,” Eliot said, soft. 

Q’s eyes crinkled. She snatched the measuring tape out of his hands. 

“Your turn,” she said. 

Eliot flushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! There's no set update schedule but we're gonna truck along my dudes!
> 
> my twitter: @wow__then  
> my tumblr: www.fishfingersandscarves.tumblr.com/


	6. Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids go to the movies. Eliot does some crafts. Quentin makes a snack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello do you ever go fucking bonkers with extra energy and write a whole chapter in one day because guess what here's chapter six babey
> 
> thank you so much to airenn my beta who is a SPEED DEMON and to cee, caleb, quill, kate, liam, maii, and el and just like all of peaches and plums ayyy
> 
> also yes the chapter count changed again, i keep moving things in my outline lmao, at this point just assume the ?? means 30ish chapters
> 
> thank you so much for reading and commenting!! it makes me so happy and means the world
> 
> EDIT: QUILL DID FANART AND IM CRYIGN INTO MY FCKGKIN HANDS
> 
> TW for the chapter: injury, blood, desc of violence, transphobia, transphobic language, and homophobia

i.

The new year came and went. Soon it was spring again and the smell of crushed flowers and cut grass permeated the air. The air was crisp and sharp, stinging the nostrils and awakening the senses. Eliot slammed to the ground. His vision flashed white, a lightning strike of pain and impact. He moaned, eyes clenched shut, his head throbbing and ears ringing. 

-

All three of them, Taylor, Eliot and Q had been walking back from the movie theater. It was Saturday and they had gone to see that  _ Golden Compass  _ movie. Q had read the books and decided they would go. Eliot thought it looked like crap but Q had asked and well… he couldn’t say  _ no.  _

So, they went, and Eliot and Taylor said hello to each other and then didn’t say anything else. Q ignored it or didn’t notice, lost in her excitement. What a happy dysfunctional trio they were. Not that Eliot didn’t make an effort. Just, what was the point? If your own best friend was just going to ignore you, no matter what you said, no matter how many times you apologized for something you shouldn’t even have to apologize for, what was it all for? Eliot had sighed. 

He knew this effort was probably wasted but. 

But. 

“Did you read the book?” He had whispered, leaning over to Taylor in the dark theater, popcorn bowl cradled between his thighs. Taylor had been silent, staring at the screen as a teaser for _Prince_ _Caspian_ played. 

Then, he did something unexpected. 

He turned. 

“No,” Taylor answered. He leaned forward, conspiratorially. “But don’t tell Q that.” Eliot had felt himself smile. 

-

“You’re such a fucking asshole!” Q yelled. 

Logan Kinnear laughed and kicked Eliot in the stomach. Again, again. 

“You’re next, bitch. I’m almost finished with your girlfriend.” 

Eliot curled in on himself and coughed weakly. Q wrestled in the arms of one of Logan’s lackeys. “Douchebag,” Eliot wheezed. 

Logan kicked him again, harder. “Say that again, and I’ll kick your teeth in.” 

-

Logan had ambushed them as they had left the theater. Him and his asshole friends were probably looking for something to fill their afternoon; just their luck. All three of them had stood stock still, deers in the headlights. Taylor had swallowed, eyes wide and looked to Eliot and Q. 

“I’m sorry,” he had said, right before breaking into a dead sprint and running far, far away. 

-

Eliot curled ever further into himself. Maybe he could sink into the ground or something, if he tried hard enough. There was a scuffing sound, sneakers on pavement. Eliot blinked and looked up just in time to see Q punch Logan right in his stupid fucking face. 

And god, what a punch, Eliot didn’t even know Q knew how to hit. She shook her hand and stepped away quickly, but not quick enough. Logan’s friend caught her and pinned her against his chest, Q kicked and writhed in his hold, trying to get an elbow in. Logan massaged his jaw with a gleam in his eye. He reared his fist back and- 

Eliot squeezed his eyes shut. 

When he opened them again, Q was down on the ground.

ii.

Eliot slammed Taylor’s bedroom door closed and rounded on him, seething. 

“What the  _ fuck,  _ Taylor!” 

His chest was tight and his stomach was sore and Eliot was a little suspicious he had a concussion. His headache was making it hard to focus. He glared at Taylor, the anger grounding him. 

“You know why I ran. Don’t act so surprised.” He paced the room, full of pent up energy and adrenaline. Q was down the hall, an icepack on her cheek. But, this wasn’t about Q. This was about them. Taylor pointed a finger at Eliot. “I warned you. I told you it would get worse. And surprise! It did!” 

Eliot batted the finger away and shoved Taylor, once. “You  _ ran. _ ” 

Taylor shoved back. “You think I wanna get beat up, Elinor? You think I  _ love  _ getting pounded into the pavement by Logan and whoever else? You think that’s it?” 

“No, of course not!” Eliot said. 

“Then shut the fuck up. I’ll make my decisions, you make yours,” Taylor growled. 

Eliot clenched his fists. “Taylor, you’re my best friend and I don’t-“ 

“I know your secret.” 

Eliot stopped. 

Cold, icy, dread slipped down his spine. 

“Y- you what?” 

“You’re not subtle,” Taylor hissed. “You cut your hair and people talk. You spend time with Q and people talk. You spend time with  _ me-“  _

“Taylor, I-“ 

“My parents can’t know I’m gay, Ellie. They  _ can’t. _ I’ll get kicked out of the fucking house. And you bring this, this lifestyle of yours or whatever. This-“ Taylor made a noise of frustration. “Whatever the hell you think you’re doing here. Just stop it.  _ Stop it.  _ Because I am tired and stressed and I don’t- I don’t want them on me, Elinor. I don’t want their attention and I know-“ He laughed, bitterly. “I know if I get attention from them, it’s because of  _ you. _ ” 

Eliot- 

Eliot felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. Again. “Fuck you,” he said, but his voice wobbled. 

Taylor snorted. “Nice, Elinor.” 

Eliot shouldered past him and opened the door. He came upon Q, holding ice to her face. Her eyes crinkled. “El, are you-“ 

“I’m leaving.” Eliot made a motion to reach for her and stopped. “I’ll see you on Monday.” 

“El, wait-“ 

He turned and left.

iii.

Eliot decided to start his waistcoat project. He had taken home the fabric from Q and it had sat in a pile in the corner of his bedroom for several weeks, if not months. He went out and got some paper bags from the corner store, ignoring Taylor where he worked in the back. Then he went home and shut the door. He drew and measured and cut, thankful that he had saved what measurements Q had taken for their Halloween costumes. 

He snatched some magazines from the bathroom too, some fashion stuff his mom had collected for reading material. It was good reference. Eliot scrutinized the photos, copying the poses and willing himself to  _ be  _ them. 

He practiced walking too, forcing his hips not to sway, straightening his back, centering his balance. He took turns around the room, flipping through his mom’s magazine’s, smoking a cigarette and thinking of nothing. He returned to work and skipped dinner. 

By nine he had everything pinned, by ten, he’d turned the desk lamp on and worked at the sewing machine. Once, he almost sewed through a pin and broke his needle. He began to sew by hand. Eliot felt restless. Jittery with energy and emotion. He didn’t want to think about anything, couldn’t think. He could only focus. Down, up, down, up, went the needle. He pricked his thumb in the dim light and swore. By eleven the waistcoat was almost finished. Carefully, he threaded and sewed on some buttons, cutting and sewing the eyelets by hand. 

Down, up. 

Up, down. 

Clink goes the thimble. 

Drip went a tear. 

Eliot sniffed. 

By midnight, he was finished. It was a mulberry kind of dark scarlet-purple and in a fit of final energy Eliot had embroidered tiny pale-yellow flowers to the bottom and collar. He touched it like a wild animal, carefully, reaching out with the tips of his fingers. Eliot scoffed quietly. 

This was stupid, it wouldn’t run away. It was fabric, just cloth. He’d made it himself.

Still, he faltered. The fact that it was real, real and masculine and beautiful, intimidated him. He stumbled upwards to his dresser and dug through his clothes. He grabbed a sports bra and his shirt- the one he’d made with Q. It was a creamy white with billowing sleeves. He changed in a flash, feeling manic, feeling, feeling, feeling- He wanted to be himself to feel centered and whole and  _ Eliot.  _

He looked in the mirror.

_ Hello,  _ his reflection seemed to say.  _ It’s you.  _

Eliot stared at himself. His curls tumbled about his face. The white and the mulberry went together well. He looked. He looked like Eliot. And he looked  _ good.  _

Despite everything. Despite Logan, and Taylor, and his dad, and whoever else. Despite  _ himself _ . Eliot smiled.

  


_["Hello, it's you." by @paper_and_quill](https://twitter.com/paper_and_quill/status/1312059820602728451?s=20) _

iv.

Sent.

_ im coming over _

QQQ

_ ok?? _

v.

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

Q rubbed at her eyes, but smiled anyway. 

“It’s midnight.” 

“I know.” 

She pointed to a set of porch chairs. 

“Go sit, I’m gonna get a snack,” she paused at the door. “There’s a puzzle over there, if you wanna try it.” Eliot nodded. 

He felt bursting with secrets and energy but Q, seeing her, somehow made him slow down and become steady. He sat on the porch chair and looked at the puzzle. It was a sunrise over an ocean (according to the box) but whoever had been working on it -Q or her dad, maybe both- hadn’t gotten very far. Eliot hummed and picked out a piece, slotting it in place. 

There was a creak behind him and Q padded back outside, holding two small plastic bowls in both hands. She gave one to Eliot along with a fork. Eliot looked at her, eyebrow raised. 

“Peaches and plums,” she said. “My dad was making fruit salad earlier and got bored so- fruit cubes.” She picked up a puzzle piece and set it down. 

They worked together in silence, eating cubes of peach and plum, surrounded by the dark and the low hum of the porch light. 

“So,” Q said softly, looking at Eliot. “I know you didn’t come here to snack with me at one in the morning.”

Eliot laughed quietly. “No,” he said. “I didn’t.” 

Q looked out into the dark. “Can I ask why?” 

Eliot looked out too. “You can.” 

Silence again.

Q placed her hand over Eliot’s. Her brown eyes, searching and warm. 

“Okay,” she whispered. “Why?” 

“I-'' Eliot, now that he was here, didn’t know where to start. Why was he here of all places? Here, past midnight, probably ruining Q’s sleep schedule and his own. Probably fucking up Q’s puzzle too. He took a breath. 

“Me, in this town- we don’t fit.  _ I  _ don’t fit. Here. And more and more, I’ve been… trying to find where I do and  _ why  _ I do. And- and I am terrified of what that means for me and for my future and, and my life. And I- Q, you’re my best friend and I-'' 

Eliot paused. Q waited.

“I want you to  _ know _ me.” Eliot swallowed. Q squeezed his hand. Eliot’s heart beat loud in his ears. 

Q, Q, Q. 

“I’m not a girl. I’m-“ Eliot squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m a boy. I’m trans,” he whispered. 

Eliot waited. Waited for the disgust, for the denial, the rejection. Q let go of his hand. Eliot braced himself. Then, she hugged him. She squeezed him close, tight, and warm. 

“Thank you for telling me,” she whispered back. And just like that, something inside him cracked and broke free. Eliot hugged back fiercely. His emotions felt like a cresting wave, building higher and higher, above both their heads, the house, and the sky. They hugged for a long time. Then Q pulled away and looked him in the eyes. 

“I have something to tell you.” Eliot nodded, throat closed. 

This was the part, where the floor dropped out from under him. He knew it wouldn’t last. 

“I’m-“ she began. Q laughed like it was a surprise, watery and loud in the night. “I’m trans- I’m a boy, too.” 

Eliot’s eyes widened. 

“You’re- we’re- what?” 

“Yeah,” Q said. And she was looking at him- no,  _ he  _ was looking at him with those soft brown eyes. And what a wonderous revelation that was. He, he, he. Q pushed his hair out of his eyes the way he always did, the way  _ he  _ did. Eliot felt light, floating, flying high with secret, secret knowledge. He felt known. 

_ Seen.  _

He was bursting and bright and Q was here with him. He was here. Eliot laughed and laughed and laughed, and finally, he cried. Q embraced him again. Eliot kissed his forehead. Fear be damned. Q sniffed. 

“Sorry, if I ruined your big moment.” 

“Ruined?” Eliot said. He shook his head violently. “Q, you’re the- the only person I’ve told. Ever. And knowing- knowing that you-“ Eliot’s lip trembled. “It makes it so much better.” He tucked Q under his chin and held him. 

“You’re spectacular. I hope you know that- you have to know that.” Q said, looking up at him. 

Their noses touched. Eliot blushed. 

“You’re…” He searched for the right words. Q was so many things: creative, energetic, beautiful, loving. 

“You’re the bravest person I know.” It was Q’s turn to blush. He met Eliot’s eyes. 

“El, I think I’m-“ 

A sound came from inside, and a light turned on. Eliot laughed nervously, still blushing, still feeling the warmth of Q’s hands around his torso. 

“I think I should go.” 

“Um,” Q pulled away and squeezed his hand, once, twice, a third time. “Okay.” 

They stood and looked at each other. Q had to tilt his chin up just a little. 

“Goodnight,” Eliot said, and smiled. 

“Goodnight.” Q said - and smiled back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! There's no set update schedule but we're gonna truck along my dudes!
> 
> my twitter: @wow__then  
> my tumblr: www.fishfingersandscarves.tumblr.com


	7. Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go shopping. Eliot does some chores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO A LITERAL COUP/TERRORIST ATTACK IS HAPPENING AND MY DUMBASS HAS DECIDED HEY THIS IS A GREAT TIME TO UPDATE YOUR FANFICTION
> 
> HAD WRITER'S BLOCK FOR TWO MONTHS MY APOLOGIES TW ONLY FOR YEARNING AND DSYPHORIA
> 
> LEAVE A COMMENT MAYBE? I'M IN A STATE OF STRESS
> 
> THANK YOU AIRENN MY SWEET BETA AND EVERYONE ELSE CALEB, QUILL, TYLER, COURTNEY, SYPLH, THOSE IN P&P AND WLW
> 
> IF YOU LIVE IN DC PLEASE STAY HOME AND STAY SAFE

i.

Going back to school the next day, exhausted with hair rumpled, half falling asleep in History, was a revelation. In Chemistry with Q, they seemed to create their own secret language. Sly looks and quirks of the eyebrow. They snickered with each other and passed notes along. Cramped cursive and small doodles only they would understand. Knowing Q was like him was a constant source of happiness. Eliot would find himself upset with not being able to wear pants, with having a bigger chest, with having a high voice. But then he’d look at Q and remember their mutual secret and smile. Because Q could wear pants and Q wore layers to cover his chest, and Q worked at his voice, demonstrating to Eliot how he had started to lower it. 

It was something out of his wildest dreams. 

A friend, trans, the same as him.

School continued as normal, yet Eliot lived with that little secret inside himself. It rested there inside his chest, under his sternum, next to his heart. Along with Q it beat the truth. 

Him.  _ Him.  _

Thump, thump. 

It was a loud laugh, a quiet joy. In there, in his own secret garden was a secret name for these feelings and for Q. It started with an L and ended with an E and Eliot had been feeling it for some time. Long before he had a name for his heart. 

And his heart ached, oh how it ached. 

Q had been cute before, but now with the air between them clear and free, he was intoxicating. Eliot drank up his presence like water. His curling mouth, his crinkling eyes. His soft hair, his hands. God, Q had great hands. They had knobby little calluses from where he gripped his pencil too hard, and little creases in the skin where a playing card or coin pressed awkwardly as he learned a trick for the first time. Q still had the coin Eliot had given him, and he played with it often. Spinning it, rolling it between his knuckles with practiced ease. Eliot loved it. 

There were lots of things to love about Q. His earnestness. His  _ bitchiness.  _ It triggered something in Eliot, a need to touch. And he was constantly touching. Not in any overt way, not where it would be obvious. 

As much as he hated what Taylor had said, Eliot admitted that there was a little truth in it. He  _ wasn’t  _ subtle. And he certainly didn’t want to- to make Taylor go through what he went through almost weekly. Whatever semblance of friendship he still had with Taylor, he wanted to salvage it as best he could. So, yeah, touching, a very platonic thing, no homo, etc. Eliot delighted in squeezing Q’s shoulder, patting his head, nudging him with his elbow, gently flicking him between the eyes, poking him. Anything to get his attention, and Q, bless his heart, just took it all in stride. 

He even poked back.

ii.

“I don’t know about this.” Eliot said. 

Q squeezed his hand once and stepped forward. 

“You won’t know what it feels like until you try.” 

They were at Walmart. 

Eliot had mentioned the dress shirt he’d stolen from his dad. As much as he loved the shirt, he hated where it came from. He couldn’t wear the shirt he’d made with Q, not every day. So, Q had suggested they go shopping. They both had some money saved and Q- Q had said “Why the fuck not?” And in the moment, Eliot couldn’t think of a “why.”  _ Now _ , of course, the "why"s were bubbling up in full force. Thoughts about what his dad might think, might do. What would happen if Logan Kinnear saw him? 

Whiteland wasn’t huge. They’d be seen. There’d be talk. 

And Taylor. Taylor, with whom he hadn’t spoken to for two weeks. He knew it wasn’t possible, but he wanted Taylor so badly to be with them, their trio completed. He felt hollow and empty thinking of him. Eliot sighed and steeled himself. 

“Okay, let’s go.” Inside it was freezing. The special kind of cold you felt when you stood right next to an air conditioner when you wore short sleeves. Spring had been warming everything but indoors by comparison was like standing in a fridge. The store was big, almost a liminal space. Eliot found himself staring. 

“Follow me,” Q said, and took his hand. Tugging along, Q led them weaving through the aisles, past action figures and home appliances, past comforters and affordable and department store chic looking pillows, past onesies, and dresses, all the way to the men’s section. 

They stopped together and just stared. Racks on racks of shirts stretched out before them. Eliot could spot button downs and t-shirts, dress shirts and suit jackets. Clothing items that couldn’t possibly fit his frame. Eliot was aware of just how narrow his shoulders were, exactly where his curves sat, and just how…lumpy his chest was. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the scratch of his cardigan and the swish of his long skirt. It was like… like he was Aladdin in the Cave of Wonders, come across a trove of untold riches, he just had to be careful to pick the right one. The one that wouldn’t get him caught. Something floral maybe, or pink. Eliot looked at Q. He was staring at the men’s aisle the same way Eliot was: a cocktail of fascination and dread. 

It was funny. 

They were both nervous. 

Q fidgeted, flexing his fingers in Eliot’s clasped hand. His palms were sweaty. 

But the clothes- oh, the clothes! 

Eliot stared at them, couldn’t help himself. His dad’s rumpled button down was nothing compared to this. That shirt was a powder blue, with small flowers and clear buttons down the front. There were  _ so many  _ things. Eliot rushed forward - letting go of Q’s hand - to stroke a gentle hand over the soft fabric. Satin and cotton and blends of all kinds. All off the rack. He drifted towards the pastels, making sure to avoid the blues and greens. He piled clothes carefully into his arms, painfully aware he only had the money for one.

“Q-“ he turned beaming and stopped. 

Q stood frozen, staring at the racks. Eliot watched him take a breath, then another. Then again. He couldn’t seem to breathe or hold still. He looked like he might break his teeth with how he was clenching his jaw. 

“Okay,” Q said. “Okay, alright, um. Let’s just-” He pushed his hair back nervously from his face, trying in vain to get his bangs out of his eyes. 

Q couldn’t seem to move. Eliot watched him try, watched him begin to lift his foot up and then freeze. Q glared at the men’s aisle. It was like he was willing it to come to him, to come closer so he could clutch at it and covet it close to his chest. Obviously, staring a frustrated hole into a Walmart bargain bin was not going to fly. Eliot’s pulse fluttered. 

Time to be the brave one. 

He shifted the clothes under his arm and reached out a hand. Tentatively, Q retook it. Eliot gently tugged Q forward. Q’s eyes snapped down to their laced hands. His grip tightened even more. Eliot winced. 

“Hey,” he said, squeezing Q’s hand. “You’re not alone here. Okay?” 

Q’s wide eyes dragged up to meet Eliot’s. He swallowed and nodded. 

“We don’t have to pick out anything.” Eliot said, tugging Q forward still. “We can just look- if it’s too much.” 

Q nodded again. 

His expression was determined and resolute. I can do this, it seemed to say, God, I hope I can do this. Eliot’s heart ached for him; he smiled, trying to channel for all the world that he felt confident and brave, for Q. Then he plopped the stack of clothing into Q’s arms. 

“Come on,” he said. “Someone needs to tell me if I look good.”

Iii.

“I’ve been doing some research,” Q said, lounging upside down on the couch. 

He liked to do that. 

For Q, it was either sprawl or bunch up in a chair. Eliot liked to joke that his spine would get stuck that way. 

Q was wearing the shirt he’d gotten from their shopping expedition. It had taken him three hours to muster up the courage to even touch one of the dress shirts on the rack. Eliot had picked out seven shirts by then, even though he had known he could only have one. In the end, Q had gotten a flannel, something he could pass off pretty well, to tie around his waist or layer as he often liked to do. Eliot had gotten a pink and white pinstripe dress shirt. Luckily, Eliot didn’t have the biggest chest, so it didn’t warp too badly. Not like Q’s anyway. It was why he layered so much. 

“Research for what?” Eliot yawned. It was a hot day, and even with Q’s air conditioning, the heat was making it hard to focus. 

“For binding,” Q said. He looked over at Eliot, thumping his head against the couch by accident. He winced and slumped to the floor, righting himself and rubbed the back of his head. 

“I can’t just- It’s been-“ Q looked around. His dad was out. “I can’t stand it, El.” Eliot nodded wordlessly. He felt his bra straps digging into his shoulders and adjusted them. 

“What did you find?” 

“Jules, um, sent me some stuff.” Q dug inside jean pockets and pulled out a crumpled piece of printer paper. “She found a thing and it says that we can use uh,” Q’s face scrunched up as it sometimes did when he couldn’t remember a word. “Medical tape. Or, or uh, doubling up a sports bra? I think.” 

Eliot paused. He had a sports bra, maybe two. He could test that. 

“Medical tape?” he asked. “Is that safe though?” 

Q shrugged, a bobbing motion that made his hair flop. “Jules sent me it and she’s always been better at research than me. I trust her.” 

Eliot frowned. 

Q’s other best friend, Julia, always a click or an email away, apparently knew enough about Q’s situation to find resources. Did Q…like Julia? He talked about her a fair amount, shared stories of when they were next door neighbors. He’d never introduced Eliot to her. Was Q embarrassed of Eliot? Some country hick, a beat up, bullied gay boy who only had two real friends, one of whom wasn’t speaking with him? 

Eliot’s frown deepened. It just hurt, was all, the idea of Q having two people he could trust so wholly. Taylor didn’t trust him. Q didn’t know about Taylor or refused to know. Eliot wasn’t sure about it. Eliot didn’t bring up Taylor in conversation, only Q did. He sniffed and got up and took the paper from Q’s hand. 

It was a printout from some website, full of diagrams and examples of how to bind. Q’s cramped handwriting filled up the margins of the page. There were typed notes in the margins as well, from Julia, he assumed. More links to websites and a bullet point list of health concerns about binding. It was kind of sweet. Kind of. Eliot handed it back to Q. 

“You keep it.” 

“Are you sure? I can make another copy-“ Q tried to give the paper back. Eliot stopped his hand. 

“You keep it,” he repeated. “It’s safer with you and you need it more.” Eliot smiled, soft and reassuring. “Don’t worry about it.” 

Q folded up the paper carefully and tucked it in his pocket. 

“If you’re sure?” 

“I’m sure. I’ve got a great memory.” Eliot winked.

Iv.

Eliot squatted in the dirt, his knees popped. Milking goats was a ritual he did not enjoy, but it was a necessary chore. He took a firm grip of Sunshine, their goat and went at it. 

To distract himself, Eliot entertained a wild idea. A suit. Not just any suit, a full-blown three-piece suit made of something like velvet with a waistcoat to match. 

He moved his hands mechanically. The pull and squeeze was a familiar and practiced motion. 

It would be purple or maybe a dark green, with little embellishments on the collar. He imagined too, Q in a suit and bowtie, something more understated but complementary, with the sleeves rolled up and his jacket strewn over his shoulder. 

Eliot blushed and shook his head. 

The thing about prom was you couldn’t get your hopes up or really pretend it was going to be a good time. It was just like homecoming; a bunch of well-dressed teens grinding on each other to bad music and eating hors d’oeuvres. 

Always disappointing. 

Eliot grabbed the now filled bucket of goat’s milk and poured it into another container for safe keeping. He sniffed and scrunched his nose. 

Eliot’s ongoing secret mission towards masc presentation had hit a bit of a snag. 

Rummaging through the bathroom cabinet, past the bandages and gauze and melatonin he’d grabbed some of his dad’s Axe body spray. Putting it on had been a trip. He’d used spray cans before but that was usually Pan when Eliot was making pancakes, or hairspray before when he’d gathered up his previously long hair in rolls and waves. Aiming a spray can at yourself though? Eliot was terrible at it. Consequently, he got a full spray of Axe to the eye before he finally got the correct distance and angle. 

Eliot sighed and shook out his hands. 

The Axe didn’t smell…great… 

In fact, the longer the day had gone on, the more Eliot noticed just how bad it was. Sort of like a cross between shitty perfume and motor oil, the deodorant had certainly done one thing: given him a headache. 

He led Sunshine back to her pen and locked the gate. From the inside of his jacket his phone buzzed. Eliot fished it out of his pocket with one hand and squinted at the screen. 

QQQ 

_ need 2 tell u smth _

Eliot frowned. 

Sent. 

_ shld i come over? _

Eliot tied his jacket around his waist and cleaned up while waiting for an answer. 

QQQ 

_ …  _

QQQ 

_ y if u can  _

Sent. 

_ b right there _

v.

Eliot jogged up to Q’s house and slowed as he got closer. He coiffed his curls and wiped the obvious sweat from his face and took a breath. There. Looking more composed than he felt, he sauntered up to the front porch. Q was pacing by the door, making little half-turns and fraying his black sweatshirt by pulling at a loose thread. He stopped when he saw Eliot. 

“Hey.” Eliot said, his voice rising, not quite a question but not  _ not  _ a question either. 

Q dragged a hand through his hair. “Hey,” he said. 

He looked on edge in a way Eliot hadn’t seen in a while. 

“What’s up?” Eliot dropped down onto one of the two porch chairs and put his feet up. He flexed his toes in his boots and considered taking them off but decided against it. 

Q sat on the other chair. He pushed his hair out of his eyes. 

“Um-” he began, twiddling his fingers. “Uh, El, I have to- well, I don’t  _ have  _ to but I want to- tell you, uh, no, let you know that- um.” Q blinked rapidly and shook his head. Eliot leaned forward, staring at Q’s lovely face. 

Was this it? Did Q know about…. Had Q finally decided who his real best friend was? Cool, smart, research driven Julia, who was just a click and email away, ready with answers and support and fun anecdotes about New York? Eliot steeled himself for the blow; he’d been riding too high  _ not  _ to be knocked down. 

He knew about Icarus. Eliot was prepared to burn and drown at any moment. 

Q screwed his expression into something pinched and kinda constipated. Whatever he was thinking about seemed painful. A reject, for sure. Q rubbed at his temple, shook his head again and muttered to himself. It almost sounded like “not yet,” but it was too quiet for Eliot to truly hear. Then, he looked Eliot in the eyes, determined. 

“Do you want to  _ not  _ go to prom with me?” 

Eliot blinked. “Could you repeat that?” he asked, heart thumping. 

“Um,” Q said, words rushing out of him fast, “I was thinking that like, you know, prom isn’t that great, as an institution, but I’d still like to do something that day and uh, this way we don’t have to get, uh, dressed up in dresses and stuff. We could just-” Q made a waving motion with his hands. It made him look like a wildly underqualified conductor conducting his first symphony. “Hang out and look nice and, uh, play some board games or maybe watch a movie? I could read to you again or something? Um, yeah,” he ended a little lamely. Q scratched his neck self-consciously. “Is it a bad idea? We could do something else. I just wanted to, um, put it out there.” 

Eliot felt an incredulous flush spread across his cheeks. “This is what you texted me about?” he asked. 

Q’s eyes flashed with an emotion Eliot couldn’t identify. He looked away and back again, the ghost of a frown on his face. Then he shrugged and smiled shyly. 

“Yes?” 

Eliot huffed, feeling heat radiate from his cheeks. “Yes.” 

“Yes, you won’t go to prom with me?” Q asked, eyes shining, whatever emotion that was there gone replaced with excitement. Eliot nodded, smiling. Q jumped to his feet. 

“Great,” he said. “This is- yep, great, okay.” 

Eliot stood and squeezed Q’s hand. “You know this means we’ll need outfits, right?” Eliot asked. His vision of a three piece suit came back in full force. 

“I’ve got it covered.” Q said. He winked. Eliot cleared his throat. 

“To the sewing room then,” he said, feeling very hot under the collar. 

Q smiled. “Follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! There's no set update schedule but we're gonna truck along my dudes!
> 
> my twitter: @wow__then  
> my tumblr: www.fishfingersandscarves.tumblr.com/


	8. Love Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys don't go to prom. Eliot smokes. Q sends some texts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone happy valentine's day!! i've been so soooo excited to finally get to this chapter so i hope you guys enjoy it! 
> 
> you may have noticed that the title names have changed! this is because the playlist i made for the fic corresponds with what happens in every chapter and honestly the "chapter one, chapter two" stuff was looking a little tired so i wanted to spice it up.
> 
> Also i think it was very cool of taylor swift to see that Love Story was relevant in my fic so she rereleased the song, just for me.
> 
> thank you so much to everyone in the wlw and peaches and plums server along with Caleb, Quill, Tyler and Courtney. Special thanks to my beta Airenn who is just, a superhero. Thank you so much for reading and please leave a comment if you enjoyed!
> 
> TW for this chapter includes sexual harrassment, bullying, and references/implication of domestic abuse.

i.

Eliot stared at himself in the mirror. He dragged a hand through his hair, curly and bouncing in the coming spring-summer heat. The faucet croaked as he turned it; Eliot splashed cool water onto his face and blinked away the wetness. He toweled off, savoring the scratchy sensation on his face. Eliot dropped the towel on the counter and stepped back silently. 

Barefoot on the tile, he padded out of the bathroom to his own bedroom and dug deep into his closet. There, he retrieved his white puffy shirt and waistcoat; he’d worked on both some more, added little flowers to the cuffs of the shirt, cleaned up the waist, replaced the buttons, and embroidered his initials into the collar. 

Well, not his initials actually. 

He’d sewn  _ E.W.  _ instead of  _ E.M. _ It felt fitting, flipping it upside down, even if he didn’t know what the “w” stood for yet. 

He grabbed two sports bras from his dresser and put them on one by one, leaning over and adjusting his chest as he went. Then an undershirt, pants – brown corduroy – and socks. Reluctantly, he grabbed a long skirt too, to go over top. Just for a while. He completed everything with a dark purple dress jacket he’d made with Q, a tie, and some shiny black flats. The tie he struggled with, referencing the paper printout he’d sneakily made in the computer lab, Eliot looped and pulled over and over again until he finally got it right. 

Back to the bathroom, Eliot rooted through the sink drawer and retrieved his mother’s eyeliner pencil. He lined the edges of his eyes, pulling a little at the skin to keep it straight. A touch of inspiration: the eyeliner and the skirt would throw his mom off the scent of anything too  _ queer _ . His dad was in Fairland for business. With a kiss from his mom and a singular picture taken with her new digital camera, Eliot left the house and dropped the skirt as soon as he was out of view, gathering it into his arms for safe keeping.

ii.

“Come in, I have snacks.” Q patted the space beside him. 

Somehow, he had managed to clip up a curtain around his top bunk along with a string of purple and white fairy lights. They twinkled happily, throwing small patches of light and color onto Q’s grinning face. Eliot smiled. Q was in a dark blue jacket and matching pants. It was clear he’d tried to embroider something on the jacket – a pocket-watch or something – but he hadn’t really succeeded. 

The butterflies in Eliot’s stomach did their routine migration. 

He threw his skirt into the corner and carefully hung his jacket on the back of Q’s bedroom door. Eliot hoisted himself up onto the bed; Q’s bedroom was emptier than the last time he remembered being there. Weirdly, it reminded him of when Q had first moved in. Sparse. Vacant. It was just nerves, Eliot told himself. Though he knew he wasn’t imagining that Q’s bookshelves looked a little lighter, a little emptier. At least Q’s stuffed dragon was still sitting proud and plush on his desk. 

“Okay,” Q said, restlessly fluffing his pillows. “My dad says we can watch something if it’s not too loud. But I, uh, thought I could show you something first- It’s not like, super fancy or anything but I know you don’t get to listen to the stereo that much and your phone doesn’t have enough minutes to get music but, uh,” Q reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny and blue iPod Nano. 

“My mom sent this as like, a peace offering? honestly, I think it was Molly, which is- whatever- anyway she put some music on it and gave me a gift card too and I thought you might want to… listen with me? It’s got Taylor Swift’s new album on it and I know you don’t like her as much as I do but I just think it would be nice to just sit with it and-” 

“Q.” Eliot squeezed his hand. Q looked up, flushed. “Gimme the earbud, nerd.” Q laughed nervously and untangled the wires, handing one over sheepishly. 

Click. 

Q pressed play: 

_ Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone.  _

_ I'll be waiting. All there's left to do is run.  _

_ You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess.  _

_ It's a love story. Baby, just say 'Yes' _

“Oh shit-” Q paused the song. “Sorry, uh, forgot I was listening already,” he pulled awkwardly at his hair. 

Eliot laughed. “I don’t mind. I mean, it’s Shakespeare, right?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Q fiddled with the Nano. “Here I’ll just-” 

Q leaned into Eliot’s side, focusing on pressing the small buttons on the Nano, the small pink tip of his tongue just peeking out of his lips in concentration. Eliot flushed and looked up at the ceiling. He stared at the popcorn texture and imagined he could see faces in the indistinct shapes. Q was warm and solid against him, his shoulder a comforting and welcome presence. The touch was electric, every bit of contact, every slight shift, Eliot noticed. It was like all of his awareness had traveled from his brain to his shoulders, all sensation, all feeling was concentrated and focused. I must not miss this, said his body, I must record this for all time. Eliot wanted to do more, reach out and tuck Q under his chin – he was definitely short enough – and hold him there. He wanted to cradle Q and keep him there, smelling the soft, fruity fragrance of Q’s shampoo and conditioner. Tucked away from the world and it’s problems. Eliot rubbed his thumb gently over Q’s hand; they sat almost entwined, faces just so. If he would just lean in… Eliot shook his head. 

Click. 

The music started again. 

iii.

“Tell me about New York.” Eliot stared at the clock on the wall; it was late. 

They had had dinner – pizza – and watched  _ When Harry Met Sally _ . Q had cried and Eliot had passed him the tissues, sniffling in semi-dignified silence. Q’s dad had taken pity on them and made them cookie ice-cream sandwiches. Now it was nine and Eliot had an hour left before he had to go home. His skirt was bundled in his lap, wrinkled. 

“Why?” Q asked. For some reason he sounded apprehensive. 

Eliot looked at him curiously. “Because you’ve  _ told me _ you’ve gone to the city. Jersey isn’t  _ that  _ far. I wanna know what it’s like.” 

“Oh.” Q said. He flexed his hands, a nervous gesture. 

It was just a city. Why Q would get so worked up about it, Eliot didn’t know. 

“Uh, well.” Q pulled out a deck of cards from his dress pant pocket and began to shuffle them absently. 

Eliot rolled his eyes, incredibly fond. “Well?” he prompted. 

“New York – the city – is, um, you get a weird feeling when you’re there. Jules and I took the train up there once, to Times Square, and when you’re standing around, in the middle of all those people, it’s uh.” Q balanced some cards between his fingers and shuffled again. “It’s kinda like being at an airport?” 

“An airport.” 

“Yeah. You get this feeling that you’re too big and too small all at once, and in Times Square the lights are always on so even when it’s night your sense of time is, uh, kinda fucked with? Also, there’s like, so many people, it’s ridiculous actually. Jules’ mom got Mackenzie – her sister - tickets to see Spring Awakening and made us go with her. I don’t think, uh, Mrs Wicker actually looked up what the show was about.” Q laughed sheepishly. “But we went and saw it and it was just,” he gestured trying to come up with a word and dropped a card. “Shit! Uh, it was incredible. This one guy, he played uh, Melchior, he was just- yeah. I don’t really know much about musicals or anything, not like you.” Q smiled, soft and small. Eliot willed away his blush. “But it was really good. You would’ve liked it.” 

Eliot picked up the dropped card. It was the Queen of Hearts. “And?” He smiled at Q. 

“Yeah, okay, so, we did that, and it was cool. We went to the MET too. For like, a school project one time- half because Julia wanted to see uh, this bird painting by some Dutch guy named Fabritius?” Eliot handed the card back to Q with a flick of the wrist. Q took it and did an impressive looking fan, balancing the cards by their corners and shuffling them with a quick  _ thwip  _ sound. 

Eliot sighed. “That sounds so cool,” he fell dramatically sideways onto Q’s lap and looked up through his lashes at him. Q swallowed. 

“Do you wanna go there? New York?” Q scratched behind his head. 

“Yeah,” Eliot closed his eyes. “It’s like this hub of culture and history. And  _ theatre.  _ What I would give to go to Broadway, to stand on the street.” Afford a ticket to a show, he didn’t say. Not everyone was crazy rich like Jules the long-distance best friend. Q’s fingers threaded through Eliot’s hair. Gently, Q scratched at his scalp. 

“I think you’d be amazing on Broadway,” his voice was warm and quiet. “I’ve heard you singing along in the car. You’d put them all to shame.” 

Eliot blinked away the darkness and stared up at Q’s face. The low light made him look so soft, like an old movie. Everything just a little bit blurred because they’d rubbed Vaseline on the camera lens. Or maybe it was because Eliot was tired. 

“Thank you,” he said and yawned. “I think really, I just want to leave… need to.” 

Q tensed but was silent. Eliot opened his mouth to ask… something. He fervently wished he could fix it. He wanted to wipe away all the tension and stress from Q’s brow and leave a kiss instead. 

_ What’s wrong? _ he wanted to say.  _ Is it me? _

“It’s ten.” Q said. He looked down at Eliot and smiled. It didn’t look genuine. “Time to go.”

iv.

Eliot dropped his backpack to the floor with a thud. The hallway echoed with the sounds of laughter and gossip. He unlocked his locker with a practiced turn of the wrist. This one was shorter than him but leagues larger than the lockers he’d had in the past. Whiteland High was notorious for its terrible interior design; in sixth grade his locker had been as big as a shoe box which meant Eliot had had to lug around all five of his textbooks in his backpack, probably dislodging some vertebrae in the process. This locker was nice. 

Eliot had gone to the Ninety-Nine Cent store and gotten some cheap construction paper to tape up inside. He’d cut out little circles, going for an art deco inspired look – lots of black and gold – but it ended up looking more like he’d stuck Moon pies on the wall. 

Eliot started the taxing task of shoving his textbooks into his locker. It was a miracle he didn’t have back pain considering his height. He’d started doing stretches in the morning as a preventative, figuring if nothing else, he could work his way down to some splits to impress at auditions this summer. 

No one knew what the show would be yet – it was too early for that – but Mandy Horowitz told him she thought it was going to be a Fossie. Eliot doubted that; he'd looked up just how much the rights to  _ Chicago  _ were – the high school production, according to Wikipedia you couldn’t get the rights to the actual show unless you were like, on Broadway, which seemed like total bullshit – and they weren’t cheap. Eliot had his money down on one of those over-produced shows:  _ Oklahoma! _ or an Andrew Llyod Weber maybe,  _ Cats  _ or something. 

He grabbed his Pre-Calc book – the only class he was confidently passing – and made a mental note to ask Q what he thought. He was still trying to convince Q to volunteer as a techie over the summer, but Q kept shying away from talk about the musical. Eliot hoped he would do a show with him. He sighed. 

Then there was the fact that they couldn’t hang out at Q’s house anymore; something about bedbugs. Q got all fidgety when he brought it up. Eliot closed his locker and started repacking his bag. 

Suddenly, something pinched his ass. Eliot whipped around. Smack! A hand came down and knocked his books to the floor, the spines cracking loudly and falling bent and flat. 

Logan Kinnear smirked, and wolf-whistled. His friends cackled, snot-nosed and high pitched. Eliot dropped to the floor, grabbing at the papers, and blinking furiously, willing tears away with all his might. A pair of shoes came into view and knelt beside him. 

Taylor. 

He handed Eliot his textbook silently, looking conflicted. He made an aborted movement, like he was going to say something, but stopped. He nodded once and walked away. 

Eliot zipped his backpack with a fury and slammed his locker closed.

v.

Two weeks after prom Eliot stood smoking behind the boys bathrooms. Biology had ended some time ago, but Q stayed behind, claiming he had to talk to Mr. Wutkee about “something important.” 

Eliot took a heavy drag from his Merit cigarette, held the smoke in his lungs just for a moment, and exhaled. The spring season was almost over; March loomed over his head and with it, military recruiters and college representatives made their descent. Very soon, Eliot would be a Junior and he’d have to start planning for college or…something. 

Eliot allowed himself for a moment, to picture himself joining the army. He’d be a private, maybe, or a cadet. He laughed to himself and took another drag. No fucking way. He knew his dad wanted him back at the farm, plowing and scooping up goat shit and chicken shit and every kind of excrement a person could think of and then some. Eliot imagined that too, trapped at home, his mom’s eyes dark and sullen and the reverberating slap of his dad’s backhand. 

He dropped his cigarette and crushed it into the earth. 

It wouldn’t come to that, not if he could help it. There was a jar in his room - hidden behind  _ The World in the Walls,  _ the book Q had leant and never asked for back - filled with dollars and coins. There were plenty of odd jobs around town that people needed done, and Eliot was good with his hands, and had experience. He’d fixed more than his fair share of sinks, dryers and radiators and had scrimped and saved as much as possible. After his first and only trip to the hairdresser, Eliot had saved himself the time and money by learning how to cut his own hair. It helped when you had practical reference for yourself. It wasn’t a lot of money. God knew it wasn’t a college fund, but it could buy a bus ticket, when the time was right. All he had to do was graduate and then… Then what? 

That was the thing. 

He could see the potential in his mind’s eye: acting, theatre, maybe even Broadway. Fuck, but was that even realistic? A bus ticket was nothing in New York and the only information he had was from Google on the single student computer in the library and Q’s own anecdotes about the city he’d only ever visited. That was the other thing: Q. What would they do? Eliot hadn’t asked him. Their future seemed so nebulous and changeable, yet Eliot couldn’t picture a life without him. Would Q want to go to New York? What if he wanted to go to college somewhere else? Or not at all. Q wouldn’t stay in Indiana, he knew that, but would he stay with Eliot? A knot twisted in his stomach, or maybe it was the nicotine. 

Eliot rubbed his face and sighed.  _ It would be fine _ , he told himself. 

It  _ had _ to be fine. There was no other option. 

In front of him, there was the sound of footsteps. 

Eliot looked up. “Hey Q-” 

“Hey,” said Taylor. 

Eliot stilled. 

They looked at each other wordlessly. Taylor was making a face like he’d sucked on a lemon. Whatever he was thinking about pained him. Encouraging. Still, Eliot took a breath and waited. For all the hurt Taylor had caused, Eliot still missed him and the easy friendship they once had. They were allies, after all. Long before Q, it had simply been Taylor and El against the world. But sometime in between, the world had gotten in the way. 

“Um,” Taylor cleared his throat. He dropped his backpack and joined Eliot, leaning against the wall. They stood side by side in silence. Taylor fidgeted. His restless hands twisted and pulled lightly at his blue polo shirt, stretching the worn fabric. Eliot retrieved his lighter and another cigarette from his pocket. He glanced at Taylor sidelong. 

“Want one?” he asked, offering the cig between his fingers. Taylor glanced down at Eliot’s offering hand and up to his face. He hesitated, just a moment, but took it. Flick. Eliot lit the cigarettes, one then two. Taylor took a drag and coughed like he was going to throw up a lung. Hacking still, he spit into the grass and sneezed. Taylor took another drag and rubbed at his nose, tolerating it better this time. Eliot smoked his own cigarette with practiced ease.

“Ellie I-” Taylor began. He pursed his lips and stopped. “El,” Taylor said, all sad eyes and curly hair and runny nosed. “I want to… apologize.” Eliot tapped out his Merit and turned to Taylor, eyes narrow. 

“For which part?” he asked, feeling the angry and petty creature in his stomach awaken from hibernation. “Not talkin’ to me for four weeks, running away when Q and I were getting the shit kicked out of us, or for every other thing you’ve said to me? Which part, Tay?” 

Taylor winced, a pained expression painting his features. 

_ Good, _ Eliot thought,  _ you should feel terrible, just like I do _ . It was like every bad thought, every terrible moment of pain was bubbling to the surface. The water sloshed about his head and Eliot was a deep-sea diver rising from the depths of the world, only for oxygen to pool in his blood and kill him dead. Tension crackled in the late spring air. It was like there was electricity at his fingertips, all the hair on his arms stood up, like his body was anticipating the beginning of a heavy storm with all its thunder and lightning. He could almost smell the ozone. 

“All of it.” Taylor said, snubbing his cigarette under his heel. “I wanna apologize for all of it, El.” He took Eliot’s hand and a bit of static electricity zapped between them. “I was fucking terrible. I- I ran away when I could’ve stayed or could’ve gotten help. I’ve been staying away and ignoring you and Q and it… it’s been awful. You guys are my friends. Elli- El, you’re my best friend. I don’t… I don’t want to lose that.” 

Eliot bit his inner cheek, drawing blood. Once upon a time, Taylor had been his best friend, yes, but could he really say that now? Time and time again Taylor had run and yelled and hurt; Eliot understood it, Whiteland, all of Indiana, was like a black hole, a cesspool of hatred and shame and fear. Their own Hellmouth. 

How much of the blame for Taylor’s actions rested on Whiteland, Indiana itself? The blood in Eliot’s mouth was sour, the taste mingled with the memory of smoke in his mouth, the burn in his lungs. Eliot looked at Taylor, really looked at him. Shorter than Eliot, he had curly brown hair and an uncertain expression. 

His friend. 

Eliot was looking at his friend.

He sighed. He could hear in his head what his mom would say: “You know what they say, Elinor, fool me once...fool me twice…and now three times, sweetie?” 

What was he supposed to do? Lose his only other friend? 

No. 

No, they would just deal with it, not talk about it. 

Just like they always did. 

“What’d you get on the History quiz?” Eliot asked breezily. 

He would ignore it. 

Just like he always did.

vi.

“So, what was this important thing you needed to tell Wutkee?” Eliot whispered, picking at his cuticles. They were pretty shabby looking. 

Eliot and Q were seated together with their chairs scooched side by side in front of the school laptop. Q paused “The L Word Season 2 Part 2/8” and bit his lip. 

“Just uh, homework stuff. I needed to check where we were in the semester, that’s all.” 

“That’s what kept you for a half hour? I thought you were passing Biology.” 

Q frowned. “I  _ am.  _ I just needed to talk to him, okay?” 

He sunk deeper into what Eliot had privately dubbed his “turtle pose” – legs perched, arms tucked into either sleeve of his sweatshirt and chin jutting forward – and stuck a tongue out at Eliot. 

“Okay, okay,” Eliot said. He grabbed Q’s hand and rubbed his knuckles. “We can always find tutoring. It’s no biggie. I’m pretty sure Kyle Marsten has a crush on you anyway, he’d probably do it for free.” 

“What? No, he doesn’t,” Q flushed, hiding more into his legs. “If he had a crush on anyone it’d be you.” 

“Me?” Eliot said. 

“Yeah,” Q said, all warm eyes and curving mouth, “Definitely. You’re so um, well, you’ve got a great mind and you’re really funny and, and tall-” 

“Tall.” 

“ _ Tall. _ And when you smile you smile with your whole face and uh, you’re snarky but in a good way and you know so much about like, crafting and sewing and stuff and uh, you’re um-” Q tilted his head and looked Eliot in the eyes. 

“You’re handsome.” 

“Oh,” Eliot whispered. He’d never- no one had ever said  _ that  _ about him before. It wasn’t like there was cause to; he wasn’t out. Thinking about coming out to his mom, his  _ dad _ , that was… Eliot had no doubt he’d be dead within fucking minutes if his dad ever… But Q. Q said the word, said handsome, with reverence, like it was something special, like  _ Eliot  _ was something special. 

The only boy in the world, and a handsome one at that. 

Eliot swallowed. 

“You are too, you know,” he said, feeling a distinct loss for words. 

“Handsome, I mean.” His face burned and radiated heat like it was finally summer. Q looked at him startled, like it was a surprise he too could fit that description. Handsome. They stared at each other in silence. 

“Thank y-“ 

“Thanks-” 

They laughed. 

“Thanks, El.” Q smiled shyly, eyes bright. 

“Thank  _ you _ ,” Eliot said. He smiled, feeling the grin pull at his cheeks like it was the most natural thing in the world. It always was, smiling at Q. Eliot cleared his throat and gestured at the computer. 

“Shall we?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Q laughed sheepishly. 

He pressed play.

vii.

Eliot blinked blearily awake. His bedroom was pitch dark, shadows played against the wall, black and heavy. He squinted at his alarm clock. 

4:32 AM. 

Eliot groaned. His phone buzzed on his bedside table. Eliot glared at the culprit in his awakeness and rolled out of bed. He scrubbed at his face and yawned. Fifteen texts, all from his number one speed dial: Q. Eliot frowned, smacking himself a little to wake himself up. What would Q need at four in the morning? Because if they had to hide a body, Eliot would need to eat an apple or something first. 

QQQ 

_ el are u awake _

QQQ 

_ el wake up _

QQQ 

_ im gonna keep txting until ur awake _

QQQ 

_ el i need to tell u smth _

Sent 

_ q its 4am _

QQQ 

_ im outside _

Sent 

_ ur WHAT _

Now, Eliot was wide awake. He ran to his window, almost tripping over his sewing machine in the process. Sure enough, Q’s small figure was outside, leaning against the storage shed. Clear, cold dread pooled in Eliot’s stomach. Q couldn’t be here. It wasn’t safe. Eliot had never brought someone home. 

Even Taylor knew to stay away. 

Sent 

_ fck ok i c u im coming  _

Eliot cursed and dropped his phone back on the bedside table. His stupid pajamas didn’t have pockets anyway. Eliot tip-toed to the door, pushing it open with a creak. He stared out across the dark landing and the stairs leading down to the living room and more importantly, the front door. Eliot glanced back and forth. His parents room was adjacent to his own. Eliot prayed his dad was sleeping in bed for once, instead of on the couch. With a skill he’d only gained from watching  _ Newsies _ on a Blockbuster VHS, Eliot soft stepped across the landing and down the stairs, shifting his weight from toe to side to the ball of his foot, wincing at every rattle and creak as he went. 

At last, Eliot emerged into the early morning. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the sky was lighter already. Q looked up and all but sprinted over to him. 

“El,” he said, breathy and soft. 

“What is it, Q?” Eliot said, annoyed now that he was outside in the wet grass in his woolen socks and green striped pjs. He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling exposed and off-center. 

“El, I- I wanted to tell you right away but we weren’t sure if it was going to happen or not but then it did and I didn’t tell you and I  _ wanted  _ to tell you but the longer I didn’t the harder it was to start and then you couldn’t come over- and I know I’m such a fucking idiot and I’ve been an idiot about this and I was so worried-” 

“Q,” Eliot repeated. “What  _ is _ it?” 

Q swallowed. “I’m moving. Tomorrow.” 

Eliot laughed. “You’re joking.” 

Q grabbed Eliot’s hands, chin wobbling. “I’m not, El. I’m- tomorrow my dad and I are moving to Brooklyn.” 

“You,” Eliot took a step back. He felt unsteady; the world was swirling under and around him. The ground had broken up and crumbled beneath his feet and now Eliot was falling, finally after all this time, falling to his death. “You stopped inviting me over because-” 

“We were packing.” 

“Why,” Eliot looked at Q, feeling the heat of tears stinging his eyes. “Why didn’t you  _ tell  _ me?” 

“I didn’t want it to get weird,” Q took a breath like he was gasping for air. “When I moved here from New Jersey- Julia, she- I don’t know, she took it badly and I just- El you’re my best friend and it was stupid. I’m stupid I know, I know, I  _ know  _ it was so  _ stupid! _ ” Q rubbed at his eyes furiously. “I was- I was scared that you’d think- I don’t know.  _ I don’t know.  _ Sometimes my fucking brain breaks and I just- I stop talking to people and I avoid and I- I- I run and find doors like I’m looking for Fillory or something and I know it’s bullshit and it’s so  _ so  _ dumb and it’ll just cause more pain, but I keep doing it! And I- I just keep doing it and making everything worse.” 

“Shut up,” Eliot said thickly. “Don’t talk about my best friend like that.” 

_ You can’t go _ , his mind cried,  _ don’t go somewhere I can’t. _

Q hiccupped and sniffed again. He was a dam about to burst. Eliot felt the same. 

"I'll find a way back, I'll-" Q gulped in a breath. His warm eyes glistened with bright tears. "It's like Jane said at the end of The Secret Sea," he breathed quickly again and quoted: "But there's always a door to Fillory, Martin, through the clock or the closet or a book. Fillory will always find us, no matter when, no matter where, and when it does..." Q sobbed, his face contorting. "We'll be home." 

Eliot's lip wobbled. His inner balance, whatever that was keeping him solid and sane, was tipping. Q couldn't leave, he just couldn't. He didn't know what to say, he just needed him to stay, needed him like air. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, protest, rage, cry; he opened his mouth to speak and- Q kissed him. 

Eliot’s eyes widened and then shut. Q gripped his collar with all the strength in the world, pulling Eliot down and crushing their lips together. Their teeth clacked together from the force of it. Eliot gripped Q just as tight, memorizing the warmth of him, the sweet wet of his mouth and the slight dart of tongue. His first kiss. They broke away gasping. Eliot touched his swollen mouth, the taste of their mingled tears and Q on his lips. 

“El, I’m sorry I-” Eliot pulled Q in and they kissed again. Softer this time. They kissed and kissed and when they broke apart the sun was rising, and the sky was painted orange and yellow. 

“I’ll text you,” Eliot said, stroking Q’s face, trying to memorize everything. His soft brown eyes, his caterpillar eyebrows, his swoopy nose, his curving mouth. 

“You better,” Q said, voice breaking. He was crying again. Eliot hugged Q against his chest, tight. They embraced in silence, holding onto each other like they were the last people in the world. Somewhere, a rooster crowed. Q took a shuddering breath. 

“I should go,” he said, not letting go. 

“You should go.” Eliot echoed, not letting go. 

He tucked Q under his chin wishing for all the world he could tuck Q into his chest and keep him there, locked away in his heart. At last, Q pulled away, tired, tear-tracked, and sad. 

“I’m not gonna say goodbye,” he said. “I’ll come back.” 

Eliot nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“I will,” Q said.

The next day, Q was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! There's no set update schedule but we're gonna truck along my dudes!
> 
> my twitter: @wow__then  
> my tumblr: www.fishfingersandscarves.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! There's no set update schedule but we're gonna truck along my dudes!
> 
> my twitter: @wow__then  
> my tumblr: www.fishfingersandscarves.tumblr.com/


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